I was thinking tonight that our lives are lived in moments, not days or weeks or years but in single, solitary moments. Many are remembered, some are cherished, and a few holding so much pain and grief that we try to bury them. Some are life changing and others come and go with no more than a glance.
I’ve been struggling a bit lately trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up, tinker, tailor, soldier, spy….the jury’s still out but I’ll keep you posted. In times of personal unrest, I find that I have the greatest need to seek moments of beauty in my world, anchors if you will. My posts that include images of what I call “shop art” are good examples – mundane things that catch my attention and deserve recognition, things that jiggle my senses and make me stop and hold my breath.
Tonight, the ground is covered with a dry cold snow that crunches under my step when I walk over the areas that are packed down by tire tracks. It’s a lovely cold sound that can’t be replicated by anything else on earth and once you’ve heard it, it will be seared into your memory. You will be able to conjure the sound in your mind at will, no matter the season or the temperature.
As I was taking my late night walk in the dark, I noticed the sky that was a perfect cover of black velvet and it reminded me of a cape I once saw my mother wear to an evening formal dance with my father. It brought back a sliver of a memory, forgotten until I had looked at the sky. Such is the power of a moment.
As I got back closer to the building, I spied tiny diamond chips sitting on top of the snow as the ice crystals caught light from the overhead vapor lamp. Fairy dust perhaps?
I heard the absolute silence of the night, broken only by the sound of my breathing and boots crunching in the snow. I enjoyed hearing those sounds and, although I was getting cold, I didn’t want to go inside, I didn’t want that little moment in time to end.
Not every moment is beautiful – that middle of the night phone call, a goodbye, the sound of a cry or the feel of tears on a cheek, a final breath, or the heart stopping fear that we have all experienced at one time or another. These are the moments whose memory we tuck aside and try our best not to remember and when they come unbidden, we push them away as if they still had power over us.
I think of myself as the memory keeper because I remember moments. I may forget days and names and phone numbers, but I remember moments. They are the thread of my life.
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