Late in the day you remember
the familiarity of home.
. . . . .
A piqued curiosity requisitions the mind to cull
particles that slumber deep in their dark shadowed space.
Quiet thought processes stream prophetically
through coloured layers of history.
The mind, mindful of its purpose, starts to unravel –
its questioning cry binds tight to memory's blur with a palpable hope.
Until at last, a glimpse is given into the uniqueness of a room,
appearing a shade brighter against the symphonic measure of time,
As the sky dims, the romance of absence lingers
and you hesitate, immersed in this bliss.
. . . . .
“A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward; one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day.”
~ Anna Mary Robertson Moses
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