I close my eyes riding the wind through the tenses of my life. Filtered images fly through the dark illuminating scenes through the scent of memory and hope.
I know not where the wind will take me, nor the speed, for there’s a world of difference between the breeze and the gale, but they’re mine none the less.
The sounds of my past aren’t audible. They come through experiences that thunder or whisper to my soul. Interrupted only by the decibels of reality rumbling across my conscientious. The light rain on the tin roof has more color in mind than in my world.
It’s like the sound of rubber rolling on wet asphalt triggers a silence that brings a colorful emotion that’s silent, but heard. Felt in that separate place between memory and hope.
I can’t live here in this darkness full of light, sound, and smells. I can’t push the world far enough away. I can close my eyes and smile, or cry for dreams long past, or hopes that’ve died. Either way the beauty isn’t lost, it’s in me.