Terrain of memories

I don't really have many memories of growing up.  I can remember what all but one of the houses looked like  Five out of six isn't bad.  I remember snow fights outdoors and some ice skating ventures on rivers, lakes, and skating rinks.  I remember what all of my schools looked like.  I can recall the names, but not the faces of my four girlfriends before high school.  I can call to mind spending the night with a my best friend from elementary school.  Beyond that, the first twelve years of my life must have gone smoothly enough for me not to have bothered
with memories.


From 12 on, memories abound both good and bad.  I remember the good, the bad, the zany, the miserable, the lonely, the ecstatic, the mundane, the angry, and the ugly.  It have a mixed bag of memories, a potpourri of sounds, sights, smells, and feelings.  I guess everyone has to own his/her own past.  Denial of what happened never changes what happened.  But, the opposite is also true. One embraces his/her past to enjoy the moments that have built the present moment.


As I look back, the terrain looks like a mountain range snapshot.  The peaks and valleys are there.  The rolling hills with meadows, the rock cliffs and flat buttes, the dry lake beds, the snow-capped tops, and the pine-covered slopes.  But the peaks always stand out the most, as with any view of a mountain range.  Some are jagged, other smooth.  They stand out against the sky.  They represent the zeniths of life.  I have memorized all their shapes.  The one in the foreground is the one I love the most... I wanted to build a cabin there, still would... It's so beautiful... majestic... enchanting!