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Red Medicine

My memory sucks.

There are gaps spanning several years. The most complex experiences survive only as basic sensory reactions — smells and sounds, especially. Etched in my nostrils even now is the aroma of burning leaves.

Before sparks turned to flames, I would splash through piles taller than I was, burying pine cones and needles. Nature’s firecrackers fell from the only kind of tree I knew growing up in east Texas. I don’t know how old I was, but I can still hear that sound. Continue reading

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