The trees of my earliest memories are those in Grandma's yard. Mama remembers when, during her childhood, the house was built and the trees were planted; by the time of my early childhood, some twenty years later, the place was comfortably settled and had, at least to my small consciousness, the air of that which always had been and always would be.
Dominating the front yard were two ash trees, their massive trunks strong and steadfast, their graceful boughs spreading, sheltering and shading the yard, making a living canopy of dappled light and shadow under which my cousins and brother and I could play untroubled by the hot South Texas sun.
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