For a moment the day ahead is set aside. For a moment, lightly held, the world awaits and, like a glimpse through a shifting crowd, I see into another time.
Only a moment. Look too hard and it’s gone already. The kind of passing glance that spin us in our tracks, have us looking back. Too late, for what was revealed has skipped away. Gone on ahead the way it does. Dancing like a child. Appearing then flitting away again.
Just a moment, we call out. Hoping to hold it back. Catch up perhaps. But it is just a moment and swiftly passed.
I keep a string in a drawer. A string of moments. From time to time I take them out. Invoke the words to conjure them up once more. But they are fragile things, reluctant to venture out of their shells. Unable or unwilling to stand exposed to the light of day.
Sometimes, I wonder if they’ve gone. They are so light I fear I am left with a string of husks.
But then I catch a glimmer and know. They may be only moments but they have never left.
Every moment remembers us and waits in an endless game of hide- and - seek to be found once more.