Memory's fading memories

Perhaps each day as we wander through a new series of faint rumblings, evocative somethings, and mysterious sounds we wonder if we should have expected this unexpectedness all along. Shouldn’t we have expected this sad birthday, this nagging rumor, this storm threatening, this missed parade, this unlit sparkler? This baby walking, this animal stirring, this meteor shower, this kettle on the verge of boiling?

Maybe, though each unexpected encounter is quickly knit into a terrifyingly complex tapestry of seemingly indivisible noetic cloth, after a time we find so many of the moments we have collected have unraveled and turned to dust. Some will have quickly disappeared, like breath on a mirror. It’s a bit like losing a glove – you still own a glove, it’s in your home somewhere, but you can’t ever use it. And what if you don’t even know it is there, then you can’t even call it lost.

Roots, legs, wings, and fins

Perhaps the entire planetary system is a set of patterns. Whispers. Spokes of thought. To and toward containments, vivid and soft. A constellation of dots. Perhaps we refresh our perceptions each time we sharpen the pencil and make connections; each time we tie individual points together in new configurations using a series of stems and vines, fine gossamer laces, cerebral filigree and stretch marks.

Maybe our new creations will emerge as images of shared aspirations. Or maybe in order for us to embody the lightness we witness in the jumping of a fox, our lone bird of purpose, who draws a straight line with her flying body, will stir the leaf of our utmost elegance in shades of green and undulations of coolness; sunk deep, always in the shade. Maybe, with lit eyes and attention lengthened to its limits, we will drink from the brilliance and invite fish to swim along our borders. Trees will bend over us.