Oh how time has passed recently. Much quicker then usual; time seems more and more like a dear child who you hold in just one hand, but then find, in what seems only moments later, that the same hand is waving goodbye as the school bus pulls up.
Time is a friend though. And while we all have boxes of notes hidden away somewhere, guarding old memories, many of mine camp out right there in my inbox. So instead of rummaging through what would have once been someone's box of memories, made up of cards, notes, letters, and black and white photographs, I can open up my gmail account to account for what traces I have of my story. It was the pristine garden, with the lovely couple in it that got me thinking about all that had come about over the past year, in every facet of life. Got me thinking that even though some parts of the story have jagged edges and sharp points at times, it's somewhat comforting to know that part of the human story is the struggle, and part of the human beauty is the triumph.
Before I get too caught up in nostalgia, I'm reminded of what time it is again, as the contrast of my bright screen to my dark room signals to me that sleep must be near. But there's something to be said about these new boxes of notes. That at the click of a button I can remember and recall all the correspondance I sent forth that asked for help, or wished a friend a good day, or let a loved one know I cared. It's really wonderful to be able to recall this, but even more remarkable to be reminded of the response. Gnight'