My fondest memory is of something that didn’t actually happen.
It was a dream I once had in a cold, desperate winter of my life. In the dream, I awoke to find myself embraced by the tall grass of a hillside. It was very warm. It seemed to be August. I was in Ashland again. In truth it has been probably half a decade since I’ve been in Ashland, but in this dream I was a child.
In the dream, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I gazed out at the picturesque landscape I knew so well. The hills that gently surrounded the valley seemed to be walls through which nothing could intrude. I felt safe. Safer than I could remember feeling in a long time. I knew it was a dream, but I knew that as long as I was here, everything was going to be alright. I laid back in the tall grass and breathed in the warm zephyr as it danced over me. A smile crossed my face and I knew contentedness, if only for a moment.