A gibbous waned, the moon's diminishing shine piercing the clouds racing past overhead, as a birth was being staged between two towering mountain pine trees. A mother pushing against the trees, fingers digging into the bark, face straining in pain. The flotsam escaped; I dropped like a stone falling onto a pile of fallen leaves and pine needles gathered together, ensuring a safe landing. A first fall, a possible first concussion, with many more falls ahead. While I don't remember any details, some thoughtful relative snapped a Polaroid picture of the tiny fallen angel's arrival. And as uncomfortably embarrassing as it has been to see that picture repeatedly, for many years now, I would not have believed a word of this birth story without it.
… the above was read to you by an A.I. generated voice; my words, its voice.
None of the above is all that special, but definitely unique in the ways it all flowed into and out of each other. Perhaps such moments in a life are best shared through stories, even if blended into fiction.
"All I say is by way of discourse, and nothing by way of advice. I should not speak so boldly if it were my due to be believed."
Michel de Montaigne