Memories Are Like Rivers | 2.27.21

A year of forced stillness has been doing strange things to this brain of mine, it’s been swirling thought like a storm, it’s been sending thousands of gallons of memory down through the tributaries of my mind. I look back and I see all the places I’ve wandered, the fields I’ve walked through, the laughter shared over bubble cones and late night tea. I see these people in these places and they stop feeling real, they feel like dreams that filtered through sleep and restlessness and filled my imagination with wonder. I know they are real, but time changes them, I forget the stones underfoot, I lose the fact that there were wildflowers in those grasses. Memories are like rivers, they change every time we dip a toe into them, for we change, and the eyes we look backwards with see in new lights.

This trip, this magic trip with magic people, Sav and Ash, my wife that wasn’t yet my wife at the time, this trip from London to Suffolk, Suffolk to the Peak District, Peak to Lake District, and on up to Edinburgh. This trip of wandering, of simple pleasure, of changing plans and adjusting our sails. I look back on it now and watch the shapes of the days shift and move as though gelatinous, I catch certain scents on certain breezes and I am there, again, or at least what I thought there was.

Perhaps they do this to make room for new adventures, new memories, perhaps they do this to insulate us from the harder times, I do not know. I just know that this river is one I bathe in frequently, I dip below the surface and feel the cool water on my face, I rise and let drip off me, rejoining others as they float away forever. I’ll meet you here, here in this stream, and one day, we’ll forget together.

Lesson I have learned:

memories are like rivers,

they don't stop changing.

Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson


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