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Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning



Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Remembrance of things past

Silently drifting through the tree
the smoke of a thousand campfires
is drawn deep into
my soul
by a sigh

across a fire not seen but seen
my parents, long departed
stand

my father tall and strong
my mother short and dynamic
happy in each other
loving the moment
laughing

across the fire not seen but seen
my children play
wrestling in flickering light
characters in an old time movie
jerky movements expressing delight
in life

across the years
I have sat by fires
Smelling this smell
savoring the moment
under the fullness of the moon

time disappears
and hurt
and disappointment
and once again I am
that little boy
who ran with carefree exuberance
through the woods

and saw life as magic

the smell of a thousand campfires
tickles my nose

____________________________

occasioned by the smell of a wood fire
while on an evening walk
a Proustian experience of a smell or sight
or sound
bringing back a memory
a Remembrance of Things Past

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