Memory ... how important it is ... not just so we can find things we seem to have hidden from ourselves only minutes before ... but for preserving events along the way ... to be savored later.
They may not be vitally important ... or important at all, in their own right ... but I'm convinced that they do have a role to play.
I enjoy recalling pleasant events ... or even just enjoyable moments ... when all the world seems to be working against me.
I guard against "living in the past," of course ... an impossible task, but also an activity that can have disappointing, if not disastrous, results.
I am pleased, however, when I see someone I haven't seen for a while ... and I remember their name.
I am doubly pleased when I can remember where I put something. Memory ... memories ... so important to all of us, I think.
Today's poem owes much to the memories associated with a day trip taken with a group of "senior citizens."
Phyllis and I had sort of wandered off from the group ... intentionally, mind you ... I like to do that sometimes ... simply to enjoy a bit of quiet, to stretch my legs, to view the scene from a different angle.
But let's let the poem tell the story:
ALL THOSE TREES
We'd grown tired of winding
along with the other tourists
through the aromatic rows
upon rows of captive plants,
felt our own tendrils tugging
gently toward a nearby hill.
We had paused half-way up
when there was a sudden
flutter of excited footsteps,
the clatter of young laughter,
and we were swiftly engulfed
by a surging flood of children
racing tree-to-tree, so intent
on their game they didn't see
us standing there, recalling
a game we had played so like
theirs, savoring the memories,
and now, loving all those trees.
(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger)
Today's word: aromatic