The subtle waft of weed that permeates haight.
The lullaby of drums from hippie hill
pulsing a rhythm through my body,
setting a pace to the up-down of my feet.
I allow my mind to succumb to the pull of nostalgia;
all at once wandering the city streets of the present
and the bittersweet corridors of the past,
Immersing myself in memory of days and years gone by,
the friendly ghosts of reminiscence that haunt,
before coming back to reality at my doorstep.
And like a dream early woken from,
not quite sure whether to be sad of its end
or glad to be in the moment.
In the reality of here and now,
knowing how much I've grown,
celebrating the journey that's brought me to this very point in time.
when we are in these moments;
these strange snippets of time our minds like to clip and store away
in special catalogues of our ridiculously complex brains,
if we ever truly appreciate them for what they are,
these memories we will later hold as precious.
Do we know in the moment they happen
that this is something special,
something to be remembered?
Or do we only treasure the moment after it's gone.
Perhaps the knowledge that the mundane wanderings
of an ordinary afternoon
may someday be the subject of fond and wistful recollection
should make them all the sweeter to us now.