Concrete

How Memory Shapes Our Consciousness

I stepped out onto the asphalt in front of our house. A sweltering day cut by a thick, balmy evening. Stars stud the sky like miniature gems, delicately displaying their wares. I lost myself in those sacred, slow moments to the lonely, beautiful sky.

I was transported. I feel like it was yesterday.

My skyward gaze re-kindled the electric fervor of unbridled childhood memories — flooding in like fire, innocence, rapture, despair.

I deposit a white trash bag in the plastic can at the curb. Like a magnet drawn toward a distant pole, my eyes slowly reconnect with the source of longing:

Strands of stars stud the Pacific sky.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.

The Germans call this sehnsucht. The Portuguese call it saudade.

Mystery. Wonder. Memory. Sadness. Hope. Death. Life.

Longing so deep it hurts.

My father and I were up late. Down by the Smith River.
Jedidiah Smith State Park.

Camping, circa 1990s.

The air hangs thick and silent, hovering above the rich, sacred soil. Redwood giants tower with their canopies hung like a thick brown sheet pointing gently upward…