I generally don’t live in the past. I fast-forward and visualize the future. Even my precious memories are vague. I hear friends who can relay a moment-by-moment saga of their children’s lives and I feel a bit guilty. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever present in those moments.
But I have moments of nostalgia. I look at roads – small winding roads, sometimes overgrown by weeds – and I have pangs of misty remembrance and loss.
I see daffodils growing in random places and wonder what happened to the house that was home to the one who planted flowers with joy and optimism? In spring when I see a small blade of verdant green grass or a Crocus peeking out from the soil, a heaviness may gather behind my eyes. Are those tears?
And I’ve always had a thing about partings. I cry when a Greyhound bus leaves the station without knowing anybody on it. A car loaded up with suitcases and a family waving creates a deep longing in me. At one time in my life I thought of my family as always gathering. Now I think of everyone saying goodbye – driving away – catching planes…
Perhaps it’s the many deaths that we have experienced. Maybe it’s that things have a strange importance as one grows older. Winters seem longer, the distances more pronounced.
Leaves have lost their color and fallen for the year. I am looking forward to the branches erupting with blossoms.