Susan LaffertyRemember. Somedays the forgotten pieces of life surface. In old journals. Handwritten letters. Conversations.
Pointing out one experience. Leading to memories of another.
Recalling things hidden. Lost in the pace and race of living life on this planet.
Finding stories lodged beneath the years.
Trees. Luminous in the forest. As the dying begins.
Letting go. Piece by piece. Leaf by leaf.
Orange. Yellow. Red.
Beautiful. And certain.
Seasons change.
A dense fog settled over me for several years. Like the fog slowing urban streets where we lived during part of that time.
Nearing 50, I joked about brain overload. How pieces of my mind were escaping. Slipping away.
But this was disorienting.
The thick fog outside our urban apartment hid the sun. Birds stopped singing.
I struggled to sing too. During the season I was menopaused.
