In the moments of absolute happiness
In the curious smiles of children
In the broken paths of the woods
In the steps of our feet
In the questions to our answers
In the abandoned crevices of old buildings
In the rusty cathedral bell towers
In the endless fields of scattered flowers
In the dark corners of our basements
In the print filled pages of our libraries
In the smell of pine needles and cookies during Christmas
In the freedom of music and dance
In the laughter of those who have known pain
In the scent of white birch forests touched by morning dew
In the first twenty seconds of courage
In the forgotten silence of the wind
In the graffiti painted walls by the train stations
In the sounds of flipping pages through the isles of a bookstore
In the multi-cultural inhabitants of the loud cities
In the poverty-stricken cottages of a lonely world
In the eyes of forsaken children without mothers
In the noises of the occupied playgrounds
In the piles of multicolored leaves in October
In behind the fences that we climbed
In the puddles of last evenings rain
In the golden glow of the moons face
In the bitter cold air after a laden snowfall
In the rush of sledding down a huge hill
In the fragrance of fresh watermelon on a summer’s day
In the words and paintings of long dead artists
In the photographs of dusty, old scrapbooks
On the streets where we grew up.
Do you remember…
Do you remember…
That?
February 10, 2013
6:08pm
(unedited draft)
9:29 pm
