Once in a while you turn around and see the dusty trail of time behind you. Foggy memories now remain, and perhaps some objects in your closet or on a shelf. Tears you’ve shed, moments of hilarity, loss, or wonder – they stand out the most. But those regular times, the mundane days and routine nights, the hours passed at work or in front of a flat screen – nothing. I couldn’t really describe one of those days.
I could, of course, concoct a vague, notional description of an archetypal day (rise, eat, email, walk, meetings, design, depart, etc) but it would be just a ghost, not a truth. On the other hand, I can picture quite clearly my arrival at La Familia Sagrada, my ascent to the top of Yosemite Falls, the moments around Moula’s passing, or holding Lala’s hand for the first time in the desert. I remember making coffee at dawn and climbing bizarre rocks last year in Anza Borrego as we made our film, or walking across the lawn at Mission Bay with Mom and Dad towards my uncle’s memorial. Or hanging out at Dolores Park in September, the air so warm and the sun setting, reveling in the last days of summer with thousands of other souls.
I remember, and I recall these things with gratitude and longing. But sometimes, such memories feel like dust. Ephemeral and temporary, easily washed away. So while I have them, I cherish them.
One Comment
Memories are hard to recollect, but they leave certain emotions in our hearts and in our mind. Never far from us, just tear away, a cup of coffee, the sound of a song, and they come back pushing themselves into our hearts as if rushing to find us! Some memories are better left behind, but somehow, some way “they” find us. It’s the good memories I want to hold on to, not the ones that brought me sadness, but it doesn’t matter, they find their way back into the recesses of my mind.