The memory is a funny thing. I came across this spot while walking the dog this morning. Next to these trees when I was 6 or 7 years old, I was playing and lost the pocket knife my grandpa had recently given me. I can still remember the feelings of fun with my friends in the trees, and I still remember the disappointment from losing the knife. I still have this twinge of hope that I might stumble across it in the grass. I love traveling, but I do really love living close to where I grew up.
What do you think?