When I was six, the two front steps to our house changed texture. I don't remember why. I doubt I even knew. Or thought about finding out. It wasn't the new texture or its origin, though, that has me regularly recalling these steps every few years. It was how quickly I forgot the look and feel of the old.
They simple faded from recollection within a week. Looking up "front door steps" brought back only a picture of the new. The old was gone. Forever lost.
The rewriting of the steps in my memory puzzled me greatly back then. I could spend minutes trying to remember what once was. Passing my hand over the new flat surface in astonishment.
Human memory still puzzles me.