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.)