I’ve had a myriad phantom visions floating weightless in me for years, but in an instant I felt a force like gravity quickly pull them to where they now rest, silent and gentle in my breast. I often wondered if the images in my mind’s eye were memories or dreams. I could trace the faint outline of events, but time and uncertainty always seemed to quickly erase them. As I stood in front of my relative’s house, breathing the sweet, autumn mountain air, I was able to look through my windows in time more clearly than ever. Some of the dust had been wiped away, and although the broken edges still remained, many of the lines that I once thought were cracks had disappeared. As I walked through the yard I could hear the laughter of children, their shouts, their taunts and their giggles. I could see them huddled around the tree where we hid away from the adults, to play with matches. I followed their footsteps as they adventured in the barn, climbing, jumping and discovering. And I could see their faces faintly smiling behind the glass panes of the playhouse. Yes, it was true. The place of my early youth really did exist, and I could see my once uncertain memories play out like living ghosts before my eyes.

I wonder if the ‘74 hauself could have seen the ghost of the ‘04 hauself standing in the yard? …Nah, it looked like she was too busy running and playing to stop and notice something as mundane as the faint outline of a young woman with tear-filled eyes, standing off to the side of the yard, smiling.

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Proust be proud. I sit here enjoying being solidly in my chair remembering myself remembering myself, and once again feeling transported. Someday in the future I will re-read this and remember writing it. Ha! Excellent. (LOL I know I’m weird.)