Out on a ledge that was not really a ledge but an immense chunk of terracotta coloured granite in a National Park in Colorado, I merely wanted to look over the ledge of rock to see how far down I could see. But, in a bit of mischief, I think I also
wanted to worry my aunt who practically pulled me away from a danger I did not believe was there. I succeeded in worrying my aunt, but never did get to see how far down I could see. I did see
the vast country of mountains that ranged
all around us, domed by the stunning sky.
Fortunately ~ well sometimes ~ the memory
remains, while the photos are lost in many
bouts of relocation. Memory is like that ~
a ledge that we all stand on to peer into our past,
remembering times of vast beauty, times of
mischief, or times when that ledge leans into
the dark. We pull ourselves back from the
pooling depths, or maybe a worried aunt does,
so we can look to the beauteous world once more.
“Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending
beneath her, still she sings away all the same, know she has wings.”
~ Victor Hugo
No comments:
Post a Comment