I catch the movement of a small ground squirrel up the mulberry tree behind the retaining wall. The leaves are small and light green. It is that time of year; the woods are young and old simultaneously, laying a new cycle down on top of the old. There is a different kind of memory here. I too have a different kind of memory as my daily list of things to do begins to morph and even the things on it that I begin to ignore change. Oh, but I am still struggling with the things that transcend these seasonal cycles.