WASHINGTON — Stretching both my legs and the limits of a senescent memory on a lonely Woods Lake trail, I recalled how, even as a child, it never took long to outgrow my front yard and neighborhood. I must have been four or five when we moved to an almost new tract-home on La Mirada street in south Phoenix.
Only a few blocks distant, South Mountain filled the frame of our living room’s “picture window,” as did the flash-boom summer monsoon lightning storms that discharged on its rocky ridge-lines.
Excepting the hottest days of summer, we’d grown used to the heat enough to picnic up on South Mountain, usually after church on Sundays.
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