There is time. It is invisible, but leaves traces of itself everywhere she looks. It not only changes the landscape from season to season, but from day to day and even down through hour to hour to moment-by-moment. She can see the time passing as she stands up on the hillside looking down into the valley where all her memories lie.
She can see time passing in the faces of those around her. Those that were always young suddenly become old, reminding her of that stranger’s face she sees in the mirror each morning. A face that is not in any of her old photographs but it haunts them like the ghosts of parents and grandparents she sometimes catches in the look of its eyes, or the turn of its mouth, as she stares at it wondering where the old, younger, her has gone.
So much has gone, that endless world she used to run through in those eternal summers of childhood has turned into this small winter world she huddles up in her coat against as she rushes off to always be somewhere else. The world that looked so big against a small sky has dwindled now into this small planet lost amongst so many stars, each one further away than she could ever hope to touch.
No comments:
Post a Comment