I wrote this whole post to go along with this photo. and then I hit publish. And then it was gone. Just like that. And I have no idea why but I was writing about those perfect moments and there was a line which I really liked and I cannot seem to pull it back out of my brain. Something about the way the light caught in my throat but that wasn’t it, not at all. It might drive me crazy because it was a pretty sentence and I couldn’t help but admire it for a moment but not long enough to capture anything about it but the emotion, not long enough to capture it within the hazy maze of my memory.
And now, I am too tired to try and recreate the sentences that flowed out of me like water drifting over a rain gutter during a fresh summer storm. And I suppose it means, I shouldn’t write about the fleetingness of perfection, of light and of how tending my garden teaches me about me. Or maybe it means that I shouldn’t grow attached to those moments but just appreciate them for what they are much like I shouldn’t grow attached to the words that drain from me and I should let them find their own way, soaked into the soil’s fertile moistness, seeds for something else, a different kind of beauty. A beauty that rises up to meet the late august sun as I fumble around, sleepy eyed, rushing off to start a day but stopping briefly to capture a beauty that causes my soul to gasp in wonder.