As of late I seem to be obsessed with memory, aging, sentiment, and reminiscence. Maybe these are side effects of my dissertation, but they are rather constant themes of my thinking. Case in point: While looking out of my bedroom windows this morning I noticed the color of the sky. Denver has been visited by several snowstorms lately, meaning that snow still covers the yards and roofs beyond my window, although the major streets are clear for the commuters. The sky, usually a robin’s egg blue after a ruddy sunrise, was solid cloud. These clouds had that faint grey cast like thick tendrils of cigarette smoke or the tule fog where I was raised. Upon seeing this morning light I was transformed back into my youthful self. Somehow my Colorado morning became my Central California upbringing. More specifically, I felt those old, familiar feelings that are often described as wonder and promise that I knew as a boy back in Fresno when the world seemed to beckon me to explore it. All of these senses filled me as that color of light continued. An awareness of my displacement brought me back to my immediate surroundings, which saddened me a bit because that beckoning of the world does not resonate as strongly for me now. At least I still have the memory of it, and all I need to do is just wait for the light to change again. The promise of transport those photons hold heartens me and I move forward with a hopeful and occasional glance at the lightening sky.
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