uncommons

Tranquility, elusive as it has become, opens the doors to private contemplation. Distractions withdraw the mind from clarity and realizations. Sitting in the shadow of a young tree, alone on a high hilltop deep in thought, the warmth of the sun seeping into porous skin, I contemplate, trying to understand how time elapses with barely but a whisper of notice. At what point do we stop remembering the timeline of our lives? Certainly, we say yesterday, last week, four years ago, but when does the realization hit of how much time in our lives has ultimately passed? There is nothing tangible behind us except the journals of our memory and legacies left on others. Is it possible to “be” even with the forward marching movement of time?  I guess it depends on whether or not we believe we are heading towards the book’s index or just the next chapter.

Photographs copyright Erik M. Lunsford