Of Attics and Memories
In many a moment during any day the memory of the mind is nothing more than the attic of the living. Filled with boxes of this and thats, old clothing, and old hats, artful displays kept for reasons, photo albums of past gone seasons, where those who represent them are faded scenes; flat one sided images without our dimensional presence to endure in living motions. The scents of the entry bring a familiar nostalgia while the unrelenting presence of it’s fragrance encourages the plight for fresher air. Away from the musty heated trusses, the moth balled lined trunks, the cobwebbed lined corners and the intrusive dusty condiments. And while the memory finds some small pleasure in it’s visits there, there are also many a reason to want to clean up the structure for more than just the moments of it’s existing. Making room for the wanted, the acceptable, the plausible, the possible and the decorations of appreciation within the construction to be as reflective as the days spent in living a...