fallen figments
It was like experiencing a sunset that was so moving that it carved a memory into that place where I stored my favorite memories.
You have those days?
I have my favorites. Those special ones that confirmed the magic of life, like the time when the rain began to fall during a steamy summer afternoon while walking through the park with an ice cream cone in my hand. I remember how the sky crackled with electricity and the thunder rumbled from a distance…
Or an autumn at a New England lake collecting leaves of brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow. They looked so perfect; so beautiful that I filled a large envelop with them and mailed them to my mother.
Or that delicate morning walk when I breathed in the crisp winter air, marveling at the line of bare beautiful magnolia trees covered with a clear crystalline layer of ice. How I loved listening to the sound of snow under my feet and feel a snowflake land on my cheek.
Or the evening when the moon was so big and bright that I hiked a mile without a flashlight.
It’s nice to have these memories live inside of me. I experienced all these magical moments (with the exception of the hike) alone.
It is rare that I have a moment like this with someone else. I usually find myself annoyed because the moment would be stolen away from the moon, the snowflakes or crunching of autumn leaves by the other person wanting to fill the silence with a joke, an impatient sigh of boredom or some word to disregard being present to the possibility of being filled with awe.
It is one thing to be present.
And it is another thing to intend and be present with someone… wanting to speak to them like the moon speaks to you and wanting to listen as well as the trees listen to you.
Sometimes the poetry of Life comes on slow. Sometimes we get attached to annoying charms like being skeptical or self-absorbed. Sometimes Life is just so engaging that it is easy to disappear and get caught up in many fun conversations.
Imagine what it must be like to actually feel awe and magic when its not the sunset, the moon or the trees that fills one with poetry but rather a person.
And then imagine ….that poem getting filtered and water mixed into the ink so that you couldn’t put the words outside of you.
And that is what had become of a sunset; an almost blank sheet with vague writing …. that now fits between leaves and snowflakes where I have my favorite memories.
JNET
Minding the Castle 