After hours of digging and igniting small bon fires, I grew tired. Tired of hunting for priceless treasures. Tired of the wind. Tired of the if’s and whys. And of course tired of digging. Even though the thought was near, I would soon realize how priceless the treasured memories of the yester-years were and the many more soon to come.
How priceless is the beauty of recollection? Comparative to the beauty of the physical world?
This reminds me of a beautiful sunset. I snap my camera, secure a photo and store it away. Later, I retrieve it, I stare at it and contemplate how beautiful that sunset was. But that photo could only capture the idea of how beautiful the sun transitioned the horizon in the many different shades of color. And yet my mind could retrieve the photo and the sentiment felt in that moment. Again, I ponder, how priceless is the beauty of recollection?
I recall standing there in the after math. Dirt and ash stuck to my clothes and skin. The wind blew steady and whipped the strands of my hair in my eyes. As I was staring down into the basement as C & E continued digging, my mind insisted on recalling the details of wonderland drive. The sound of the wind whistling through the Maple tree out front. How Big O had a painted portrait of every family member. How he keep his magazines in his night stand by his bed, right in the spot in which I stood. As I looked down, to my amazement, I saw a stack of burnt pages!
To Be Continued…