It never seems to be a conscious process.
No cognitive ability at work.
No intentional selection.
They are merely instances.
Immediate, spontaneous instances.
Visceral reactions around memories.
Absent is, “I am reminded of …”
Or, “Gee, that is just like when …”
A sight, a sound,
Fragrance, odor,
Moisture, warmth,
A time of year, the smell of rain,
Heat, cold, wind, calm,
A slant of light.
Any one of these can push a button.
Flip a switch.
Suddenly, I am somewhere else.
What surfaces can be happy or sad,
Embarrassing, discouraging,
Feel lonely, hopeful, remorseful.
When I hear its call,
A red-winged black bird
Transports me to my childhood.
Not literally, but way more than figuratively.
I am there.
Emotions stir.
My heart is there.
During summer vacation from grade school,
I would listen to mourning doves
Through the open window.
The sound of a slow rain
Pulls me into a very lonely space
Exacerbated by a memory of unease
In an often hostile environment.
Especially in the fall as winter looms.
Hearing a train in the distance,
A surplus of meaning and yearning
That I can’t untangle.
The rustling of dry leaves.
What?
That fall is coming?
School resuming?
Lake homes temporarily abandoned?
The lake still, free of waves or sounds.
No one around if help is needed.
Perceptions of danger and dread fold together into loneliness.
I wonder, sometimes,
Do I miss those moments?
Is that what makes it seem lonely?
Or do I miss being that person I used to be?
In a dim light... 