I owe the inspiration for this short work to a very curious lass here on SG. It's cheesy I guess, but it's stream-of-concious, so I'll take it for what it is. I'll edit it tommorrow.
Memories are a funny thing. There are days when the sky is so high above and the clouds just outside the reach of space that I swear I can smell the sea. even when I'm miles from the shore. Everytime a day like that comes along -- usually in the early part of winter when you're just starting to realise it's no longer autumn -- I'm reminded of my youth.
I've read that for people who are born and live their lives inland the ocean holds a depth of mystery which coastal people can never understand. I feel for those people. Really; I do. Having grown up out here on the West Coast there's this relaxed familiarity with the environment, with the ecosystem which represents coastal living which we, the natives, have always felt apart of. It's different now that so many people are moving here from elsewhere... but it's still there. Sometimes.
Like I was saying, it's often triggered for me by a feeling in the air, when it's so still that you really can smell the sea even when you're miles inland. And those times take me back to when I was a child and murder was almost unheard of in my hometown. When you could walk downtown in the morning and not have to step over used condoms and hypodermic needles. When the concept of a congested freeway was something that only happened in New York or L.A.
I relish those days, as I relish that time at the end of July when the sunsets begin to show lavender. Like when it's the middle of winter and there's no snow on the ground and the air so brisk and clear and cold that I'm taken back to the three years I lived in Alaska. To that very moment in fall up there that I feel in the fall here. It's almost like a perfect, beautiful circle: fall here is childhood, and winter here is fall there and the memories of childhood from there are just as precious as those from before and after my years in Alaska when I've lived here on the coast. Such sweet memories. Bittersweet, because of who I've become, what I've become from who I was. Better in so many ways, innocent in some of the same ways, but so much less naive. I miss that naivete. I miss being a child. The wonder of it. The exploration without interference from the analytical mind. Yeah: bittersweet memories, written across the high ceiling of the world.
Memories are a funny thing. There are days when the sky is so high above and the clouds just outside the reach of space that I swear I can smell the sea. even when I'm miles from the shore. Everytime a day like that comes along -- usually in the early part of winter when you're just starting to realise it's no longer autumn -- I'm reminded of my youth.
I've read that for people who are born and live their lives inland the ocean holds a depth of mystery which coastal people can never understand. I feel for those people. Really; I do. Having grown up out here on the West Coast there's this relaxed familiarity with the environment, with the ecosystem which represents coastal living which we, the natives, have always felt apart of. It's different now that so many people are moving here from elsewhere... but it's still there. Sometimes.
Like I was saying, it's often triggered for me by a feeling in the air, when it's so still that you really can smell the sea even when you're miles inland. And those times take me back to when I was a child and murder was almost unheard of in my hometown. When you could walk downtown in the morning and not have to step over used condoms and hypodermic needles. When the concept of a congested freeway was something that only happened in New York or L.A.
I relish those days, as I relish that time at the end of July when the sunsets begin to show lavender. Like when it's the middle of winter and there's no snow on the ground and the air so brisk and clear and cold that I'm taken back to the three years I lived in Alaska. To that very moment in fall up there that I feel in the fall here. It's almost like a perfect, beautiful circle: fall here is childhood, and winter here is fall there and the memories of childhood from there are just as precious as those from before and after my years in Alaska when I've lived here on the coast. Such sweet memories. Bittersweet, because of who I've become, what I've become from who I was. Better in so many ways, innocent in some of the same ways, but so much less naive. I miss that naivete. I miss being a child. The wonder of it. The exploration without interference from the analytical mind. Yeah: bittersweet memories, written across the high ceiling of the world.
synnove:
another member recommended that book, and i put it on my wishlist 