There are memories that are buried deep. Or maybe they aren’t memories at all. Perhaps they are thoughts I picked up along the way and I just think of them as memories.
It rained all night. The smell was still in the air when I got up to let the dogs out. The smell of freshness and renewal.
I have always loved the rain. It has tap-tapped so gently through my long road of memories. Dusting off the film until I see what’s there.
Rain is a song I never get tired of hearing.
Do you ever find yourself singing a song that goes way, way back many years?
Sometimes I wake up in the morning and a song is there that I suddenly know all the words to.
But then I wonder: where did that song come from? Who taught me that song? Where did I hear it?
Sometimes I am just moving through life, putting one foot in front of the other, going about my day. And a thought, or words, or a sound, will pull me up short.
It is so brief that I think it must be deja vu.
Is it a figment of my imagination? Or the fragments of a memory?
And then as swiftly as it came, it is gone. Just passing through, like itinerant fruit pickers traveling from state to state seeking work.
Turned away, they are rounding the bend out of town. Gone to take root someplace else.
Some days I am baffled by my own thoughts.
Some days it makes me wonder if reincarnation is real. That perhaps another woman left a spirit that made its trail to me.
A spirit woman who cannot find the end and is left halfway here and halfway gone. And there is no light to shine the way for her. So she is caught between here and eternity.
She is roaming back like a ghost to hand me thoughts I did not think. She will not be at peace until I capture them in my head and think them for her.
You wave your hands at the words as if they are gauzy cobwebs you somehow got tangled in.
But the more you turn and try to shake it off, the tighter the gossamer-like threads wind around you.
When I was very young, I spun richly detailed stories in my head to entertain myself. Sometimes I wrote them down.
Sometimes they danced in my head as I ran through thick rows of tall corn stalks in the garden. The earthy scent, I recall, would cling to me.
And sometimes I was afraid I would not find the end. That I would run on into forever. Until the sun set and dusk brought down shades of darkness.
But then a swath of blue would beam a light through the tall stalks and I would know I had found the sky. Which meant if I just stopped to look down, I would also find my path.
No matter how long you live on this earth, memories will walk the long road with you.
It will be a pinpoint of light that is seen from a long distance. But it will occasionally spark to life and become a flickering flame.
I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved, do it quickly. Leave it the fastest way you can.
Past years seem like safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud. Formidable from a distance.