Echoes and Lingering Tastes

Have you ever felt the brush of nostalgia for no real reason at all?
I do.
It is like the flavors of the past dance upon your tongue ever so briefly, enticing you with what once was, tempting you to bathe in history. The heart races as if some drug speeds through your veins. Flickering images cut into the fuzzy picture of forgetfulness, plucking at heartstrings to build on the chords of who you are.
I do not regret much in life. But I do ache for the moments that so fleetingly pass by. Like trying to catch sand.

Sitting on a split rail fence in the musky heat of a Wisconsin summer while my father and I talk away the time. Walking in the bitter cold, New Year's day in the city of Speyer, while wading through the remnants of firecrackers like the echoes I hear off the Baroque buildings. Talking, flirting and kissing my fiance in a dimly lit kitchen, as she sits on the counter during stolen moments of a brief trip to Utah. The flickering of my infant's eyelids as her glassy, pearl eyes pear up at my face she is still learning. Even the story we read last night with my twins on my knee. Car rides, plane trips, stopping for hours on a train on a hot, humid German day. Like dots on a line, all distinct and a part of the unending chain, but entirely inseparable from each other or the whole.
I am not an elegant person, nor do I wish to unabashedly bare my self to the whole world. But it is like those precious moments of the past are the shadows right behind us. Perhaps if we stop, be still and glance quickly we can catch a glimpse of what was. If only to encourage us to enjoy what we see as we move forward.

HRP