Each small moment adds up, piles up, behind us. Eventually the pile gets too high and falls. Sometimes this shifting of the pile reveals a moment that was buried, sometimes forgotten completely, a long time ago. A small moment that you can pluck out, dust off and hold up to the light, see the glow of memory deep within it.
Other times though, are too big to be buried, no matter how much the sands of time heap up around them; they lie there, always with some part exposed to us. These are the memories we cannot pick up and hold up to the light. They lie, boulders in the path of memory, the sands wash around them but they are always there to remind us.
I remember that time when you shrugged off the weight of your clothes to step into that river under the waterfall to swim away into the depths. I recall, how - when you swam back to me - I could taste mountains and the memory of snow on your still damp thighs.
Memories like that are the ones worth returning to, as light as a moment they lie between the boulders of things we wish we could forget. Being light as they are, though, makes them easy to carry with us when we turn to walk away from these rocks and boulders and on out into the light of the new day.
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