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Posts Tagged ‘memory’

Moon

Moon and cloud

Cloud over moon

Cloud and moon

Moon

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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.”

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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

 

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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.

 

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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.

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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.

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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?

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