The way memory is

We are getting a strange warm front, and the way the air sticks a little to me when I go outside brushes up the old feelings that I had on a retreat last April. The early spring air, and the sound of birds and the muddy, damp ground. It all directs me to the 4 days of silence that I spent in Princeville, with the Sisters of St. John. 

Perhaps this is because it was the only light that I can find to shine from that spring, maybe it is because it was a time where I was able to rest, really rest. Maybe because it is a very good, good memory. I do not know why, but those 4 days stick out to me above most other things that happened in the first half of last year.

Memory is funny. The way it is stirred up by smells and sounds and the way the air feels. The work building I'm in is heavy with humidity and somehow this points me to a little oasis in Illinois. Road trip music and sunshine, they all take me back there, above anywhere else.

Perhaps, I need a retreat. Perhaps, perhaps.


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