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I'm surrounded by trees.

The world is green, full and growing. Here, under the shadow of the old porch, I watch the trees sway back and forth, their limbs pregnant with leaves.

I rewind to the past; back to a time when there were no worries about jobs, or issues, or problems that come with being an adult.

For a few moments, my parent's house is again filled with the smell of summer: watermelon and fruit and the earthy-oily scent of my father's coveralls after a day in the oil field. There, briefly, I remember the dogged heat of the day, the squish of soft asphalt underneath my tennis shoes and the gritty feeling of dirt mixed with sweat.

I close my eyes and relive the pleasure of the dark, damp cool that filled the house, the aroma of cantaloupe and the taste of ice cold tea. At that time, Kick-the-Can was a national pastime and transportation was simple -- I travelled a million miles on a beat-up Schwinn three-speed bicycle.

I stand quietly and strain to remember my previous life -- the laughter of late nights, cruising Main Street, the buzz of the June Bugs and the neon sign at the Dairy Hut, and the tart, wonderful taste of the Cherry Limeade.

If I close my eyes, I can still hear the whine of the large trucks on Highway 51.

I watch the day fade into evening; great, giant slashes of pink and blue and orange and deep red outline a purple Oklahoma sky. The Cicadas drone, the crickets play and quietly, the night spreads across the yard like spilled water over glass.

Overhead a full, round moon hangs through the trees.

Behind me, my youngest child laughs and squeals, abruptly pulling me away from the past and forcing me to reconnect with the present. It's then, that the trees turn dark, green turns to black, and there, on my parent's porch, the memories of my youth fade into the shadows.

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