Sunday, September 18, 2011

Every Season

The youngest child in a family misses the days of when everyone lived at home and their world bustled with noise and chaos. The older child who has since moved along in life, misses the days and safety of home.
There's an emptiness found in memories sometimes. We hold on to times, minutes, and echoes of voices that haunt us like a black and white movie picture. Clinging to periods in our life, as if those dates were who we are. Our now never seems as brilliant.
I could have sworn I smelled pipe tobacco in my sleep the other night. I woke up, and just as clear as day, Captain Black was swirling into my nostrils. I laid awake, paralyzed by what seemed to be a paranormal experience. Wake up, I thought. Wide awake, the scent still lingered. It was a memory of emptiness.
Then, just like that, my heart is carried away by the echoing sound of a fiddle. I tap my foot and hum along to a tune of a new day. The memories of now.

No comments:

Post a Comment