As he carefully negotiated the rickety, slippery stairs to street level, he narrowed his eyes against the snow. Suddenly, he stumbled, flaying his arms out of the pockets to hold his balance. He had almost stepped on what appeared to be a round bundle of dark clothing huddled into the corner of the last step. To his surprise, my uncle saw two small boys, the arms of the older child wrapped tightly around his little brother.
On Saturday mornings, I would explore the canyons above the university. I spent hours walking and running along the fire roads in the hills. I knew where to find hound's tongue and forget-me-not flowers, an old abandoned plum orchard and the deer trail shortcut to the bench looking out over the arboretum.