the memory of having

There’s the richness of sun and rain, of air and birds, of soil and plants that cannot be bought and possessed or owned but is always ours in memory.

There’s a kind of memory forged in being, making having available long after the moment or the event has passed.  From this last week, I have memories of a beach, a city, a wedding, sitting in a cafe, a Tattoo.  I possess none of these but I have them all.

‘Let’s keep the beauty and sorrow in front of us now, in memories, silences, poetry.’*

I write these things down.  In a year I’ll read about them once again.  In my memory I will have them again and be rich.

(*From Anne Lamott’s Hallelujah Anyway.)


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