And in the entrance to your neighborhood was a certain sort of beauty not found elsewhere in the suburbs. See, the road was split by a median that grew tall, branchy crape myrtles with magenta-tinted purple flowers so light in their color they resembled white. On the sides of the road grew more trees, but these were not crape myrtles. They were of the sturdy type: the universal tree with dark bark and perfectly shaped, dark green leaves that was not an oak nor a maple, and seemingly not a tree with a name that was thrown around in casual conversations with neighbors. These trees grew thick in foliage on either side of the road, and almost joined the crape myrtles in the middle. Almost, but not quite—like Adam’s hands reaching for God on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. This was Mother Nature’s ceiling fresco; though, how much of a hand Mother Nature plays in the carefully pruned world of suburbia is debatable.

Nevertheless, the...