How Do You Experience Time?
Because time is all the same
I have a vivid memory of long ago, of feeling the warm sun on my face, the tickle of soft grass on my bare toes and the sweet melodic song of a solitary bird above me in a nearby tree.
I am only three years old, left alone in our front yard to play. But I’m not worried by being alone, because someone is watching over me.
The above photo is of the house across the street from ours, where strangers lived after I was born. It sits up on a hill, overlooking ours, with it’s mysterious secrets of the past.
And even though my father never talks about growing up there after my grandmother died giving birth to him in her room upstairs, it doesn’t matter because I know things on my own.
I am enveloped in a blanket of comfort by a loving watchful eye. She gazes at me from her upstairs bedroom window, knowing I know she’s there.
I don’t know how I know it’s her bedroom window, I just do. I know she used to lay in bed and listen to the bells clammer from the steeple at Old North Church while breathing in the tangy air from the sea.
I know she had a loving heart and kept secrets of her own. And now she’s my secret, protecting me from harm.
