Scratchy Needles and Gutted Fish

Time can be seen as the destroyer of all things. Like an earthquake that moves the earth or a tidal wave that consumes it, it is hard to imagine that this big old planet takes no notice of me, as I get older I see Time as just a fickle friend. 

You are on the cusp of great changes in your life, shifts in perhaps your physical landscape and most definitely your personal one. What will you remember?

What small things do you see that Time has taken/is taking away from you? Shifted in you? Released from you? Stored in secret for you?

For me...
a pink satin blanket with roses in front of a color console TV, a box of crayons and coloring book laid out beside it

the smell of Coty Air Spun powder in the deep creases of her fleshy neck

the first day -- of anything

the way the rough oak bark felt under my back as I hid deep in the branches of my tree

standing on a chair at the kitchen sink gutting fish, hearing my grandmother humming Praise Be the Ties that Bind

The scratchy sound of the needle against vinyl as I lay up against the hi-fi's speaker to hear Ray Charles tell me he's got a woman

the sweaty faces of my babies, hair damp with fever, against my skin as I rock their anxious bodies to sleep

Now it's your turn.