In the Fall we would go dove hunting. My mother's prestigous cousin would come with his wife. (She still has a home at Cypress Point.) We could smell muscat fermenting from factories nearby. Fall was close. The doves would come over the peach orchard in the early light.
The last time I saw him, he drove a 1960 convertible, T-Bird, grey. All the kids saw it coming.
So much is rememberance, the vivid recall that wants to be shared. It is all in the details.