And I remember in that second telling myself to catch this moment and put it in my pocket along with the flowers and tiny blue eggs. Because soon it would be gone and I would only be writing about it, the careless, secretive wind, the hum of the conversing aspen trees, the mountains behind me and the valleys below me. Because soon everything is gone and everyone goes somewhere else, and new things grow and old things die and it’s all precious and painful and a little bit sacred. And while we’re all scared of change, we wither without it. It may not be obvious, but we rot, slowly and leisurely.
So trap your dear moments, put them somewhere with all your pressed flowers and treasured robin’s eggs so that when you move on, you can bring some beautiful things with you, if only to remind you in the dark places that once there was light, and there will be light again.
This speaks to my heart