Collecting Leaves

Once in a while,

when I am walking through a forest,

I look down at the hundreds of leaves beneath my feet.

I remember that I have seen many lives,

I have collected them too along the way.

Then I go home

and open a book,

and there are the leaves once again.

Carefully pressed inside,

fading slowly,

but there to remind me

how far I had to walk.

Week 37. Organizing.

Some days the memories of the past come in and cause me to slow down and look very close, almost too close at times. I have to stop what I’m doing to reflect on the life I lived, the person I was back then. I know we all go there at times, to those dark places that cause us to want to be alone. There is no cure of coarse, and that sucks but there are moments of hope too, moments when we feel like it’s all been worth it. All the choices are the right ones and it was all meant to be. It seems as though reminders of how we made it through are so important. It can be an object, a song, a poem, anything. It’s remarkable how we need markers, like chapters that divide our lives into sections. I find it fascinating to think about how we are constantly trying to organize our minds the same way we do our everyday lives, seeking ways to put things away, ways to process what we lived through.