Meadows.

Drove out to the Audubon Sanctuary this afternoon. Each year I spend less and less time there, though as I get older, more and more of my childhood memories are hide-and-go-seek in the woods and tall gold grasses, finding wolf spiders in a patch of wild blueberries.
Nothing looked like the memories, on the edge of the snowy field. The Crocker Maple is dead now, fell a few years ago after standing more than three hundred years. I can remember picnicking beneath it, real young. It feels funny that I should have known anything at the end of such a long life, but I suppose once I did.
As I rounded the corner of the barn, I came face to face with a flock of sheep, who were completely silent, still and seemingly expectant of me. I stared back for a long time. I watched curiosity drown out distrust.
It was the first time that I've ever really gone anywhere by myself. It didn't feel unusual in the slightest.