Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘memory’

Leaving this place today.

Leaving is always bittersweet to me.  A feeling I should not go, this is home, a wild desperate thought of stopping in my tracks to stay.

Time turned, the deep life and memory of this place lifted and wafted away on every summer day since I left. Nothing remains but the energy carried by me as memory.

Artifacts beckon, touchstones where I grew up, what I thought. Yet, like the faded memory of my mother, all that remains is the essence I confer.  This place no longer reflects me.

The lives of others are lived here now. Their time, like mine, just passing through.

Life is an extraordinary experience, each day its own hello and goodbye. And today, to this place, I say goodbye for now.

Read Full Post »

Flying through the sky I saw the distant shadow of this airplane against the clouds.  The shade tracked us into the distance and disappeared. I began to look closer and I saw…

A flock of cirrus clouds plying their way eastward beneath us

Endless rows of expressionless houses far below

The next state over, expansive tracts bisected by lonely roads

Still further, the checkerboard irrigation patterns of farming

A small town, a cluttered magnet from above

Wind turbines dotting in distant rows

Passing over the marshmallow fluff of a beautiful cloud deck

Wrinkles in the landscape below, a tribute to old elementary school salt dough maps

A jet passes us with ease at a lower altitude

The wrinkles pile up, then spread into flatlands

Small mountains look like exposed fossils of dinosaurs that once traipsed there

Arid, rolling brown land

Strips of brown and green soil, like a long row of exotic piano keys

Building clouds mirror mountains below

Another jet, passing through

The confused noodle of a dry streambed

Wheeling over mountains, the palette of the place I called Home. It’s spaciousness and tendency of quiet in magnificent wild spaces always present, even if I am not

The sun tracks across the lake, a blazing comet beneath me

New subdivisions, identical monopoly pieces

Old subdivisions, all colors, shapes, and conditions

Scrapyard, trucks and cars piled and peaceful in their final resting place

Rail yard, parallel lines stretch toward distant destinations

Rubber hits the road, touchdown.

Read Full Post »

Glistening clouds of snow blanket the ground, the roof, the roads.

You may know these mornings.  Quiet, a dog barking in the distance, conifers silhouette a deep blue sky brightening before an orange-stroked sunrise.

Winter storms pass, leaving moments of unsullied stillness. Beneath the blanket and cold, some things sleep, some perish, some wait – much like memory. Other than the energy of our blood and bones we are only memory. Some memories finally pass, others will only pass when we do.

The sun will soon dazzle the landscape with its untrammeled brilliance, blinding thought to anything but glory. Then the blankets will fray to fluid and reveal again what lies there. 

Read Full Post »

Moon

Moon and cloud

Cloud over moon

Cloud and moon

Moon

Read Full Post »

The unassuming nature of the word “quiet” belies its importance in the smaller and larger matters of life.

Used to gear down a small child, describe an uneasy peace between adults or countries, demonstrate a quality of character, or illustrate the strength of a musical or other passage, quiet capably holds down its real estate in the semantic world.

Today, I closed my bedroom door quietly, to support the sleep of an older child who is off tomorrow to the start of the next year at university.

As I pulled the door to, the joy of his arrival, the sadness of his departure, and the giftedness of it all played into the careful maneuvering of the door.

Letting go of the handle, the scene sped forward to quietly closed doors in houses that are less full, and further on to the unbroken quiet of homes where years have emptied the beds of all but the elderly.

Yet quiet also beckons reflection. It conjures memory, pierces the veil of everyday illusion, and offers opportunity to sort and put pieces together—or back together.  Quiet is both a universal solvent and adhesive that is a close relative of time and perhaps even soul itself.

Though simple, there is a lot to the word “quiet.”

Read Full Post »

Maybe we passed along on a street, maybe with somebody else
Or maybe a glance across a room
Wherever it was, I am sorry I missed you

Middle age can come at any old time
You can be all alone in a crowd
I did not see, and I did not hear,
And I am sorry that I missed you

On it goes, until it does not
It is how all stories are written
But here I am, looking out at the stars
And I am so sorry I missed you.

Maybe there’s time, and maybe there’s not
The choices, mistakes I made, I will bear
Perhaps I am a fool for thinking you’re there,
Either way, I am sorry I missed you

 

Read Full Post »

Night

Night is when eternity comes to play – or is it just me?

A half moon, a few clouds, and the cicadas that signal summer’s end – cool enough now for open windows.

I am partial to the night.  With the passing of years, memories crowd the darkness, living like yesterday, or perhaps tomorrow, already in memory.

It has always seemed wise to me, to live in memory. To recollect how today’s words and deeds will play 20 years down the road.  Or at night, when the truth sits gently, without bumping into the glare of day.

The night tells it straight, for some that must be hell.  For me, it is good company, somewhere between now and then, here and forever.

 

Read Full Post »

Night Air

Eternity is out tonight, crowding empty streets.

Time’s arrow, the young turn elderly, generations blend, age, pass.

Unnoticed except by some in the larger moments.

Perhaps it is the snowflakes.  Countless souls against the night sky.

Something in the air, eternity is out tonight.

Read Full Post »

From a window, afternoon light filters through shifting, still-clinging autumn leaves onto a laundry room wall. Dazzling, real-time projection. Viewed but unrecorded by anything other than my memory.  Home movies.

Read Full Post »

Long Time Gone

Dogs barking somewhere in Rustic Canyon. Terraces rising against the hill. In the dark, someone probably walking their purebred Afghan dog has annoyed someone else’s pug. Up there in in the dark. 1972, Santa Monica, California.

The dogs have stopped now, as have the far-off construction noises that called them to mind.

Getting older has its privileges. Like this ability, opportunity really, to tend to a long-forgotten memory summoned by present day stimuli.

A gift of older age – time travel afforded to those with a memory still to visit – the slipping back to a decades-old place at just the hint of a sound, a scent or a song. It pulls, doesn’t it?

Read Full Post »