My first memories are of trees.
As little as I can remember about my childhood, I know unequivocally that there were trees.
To this day, nothing evokes sentimental and pleasant emotions in me like autumn at my home among trees.
Attempts could be made to rationalize these phenomena.
They would be wasteful.
The combination of the changing colors, falling temperatures and the smell of rotting leaves and smoke from a wood burning stove is one of the few things left in my life that truly overwhelms me.
Every year I fear that the feelings that autumn has given me since I was a child will not return, and every year I am pleasantly surprised when they do.
There is no sensible reason to explain why autumn weather caused me to run to the end of the street when I was young just to better soak in the moonlight on clear nights.
It comforts me to know that there are still such mysteries.
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