The Memory 


A moment in time, a fragment – and then it’s gone. Like a breath on the wind, captured in a swirl of energy. It exists, it transforms, but that breath, that moment, is gone.

Are these not the moments that become our memories? So fleeting are they, usually stolen in between the happenings we’ve intended to become our memories. But a memory, much like the breath, comes unbidden and gives life to more than we see.

Life is lived in the in-between, in the stolen kisses of a lover or the midnight cry of a child. It’s found in the gentle rays of the sun’s caress and the silvery moon lighting the path to the following morning.

It’s the raindrops that fall to give love to the flowers or the snowflakes that drift to turn the world white.

Memories, like life, are found in the moments, in the knowing glance of lovers and a mother’s gentle kiss to her child’s knees. They’re formed in the seconds you turn and see the fleeting glimpses of a child’s innocence or the measured glance of elderly wisdom.

They shape us, define us, become us, and yet are not determined by us.

They’re snapshots of the life – the beautiful mess that is life – and they reflect all that we are, all that we’ve been, and all we are yet to become.

A moment in time, a fragment, that becomes a life.


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