Saturday, December 10, 2011

December 10, 2011

Memories of summer pasts echoes in the mind often; the face of a girl, warm rain and breezes; glittering sunlight on lush and green grasses wild with butterflies—my childhood days. I live in the past a lot, and often find myself reliving past memories. I believe the past must be told or else it would be forever forgotten, alone with those with whom you shared it.

And then there’s that ‘other’ past that so intrigues me—the past I’d never lived, yet somehow it is there; somewhere in me. How many lives does one get to live?

Wouldn’t it be nice if we can step back in time and live another life just for a little while? Sometimes I like to imagine I live in another era. I can see people of so many years ago, milling about. They’re dressed impeccably; the men in elegant coats and hats and the ladies in Edwardian petticoats and pristine gloves.

And so this is winter. The days are short; every hour so fleeting I can barely stand it. By 3:50pm the slant of grayish yellowish light over the barren fields across from my office indicates me that the day is almost over. It is a race against time then; a race against darkness, because I so want to be able to get home and see my garden in daylight. I so miss it. It is hard to leave home when it’s dark and return to it when it’s already dark.

"Old times" never come back and I suppose it's just as well. What comes back is a new morning every day in the year, and that's better. George E. Woodberry

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