Words from a Branch

He imagines walking out the door and finding something entirely different on the other side. He imagines brick lanes devoid of the automotive monsters which plague him so, instead occupied only by foot traffic. He can almost hear the gentle noises of each step blending together into pattering easily pressed away into the background. He can nearly feel the humanity moving around him hurried by the rain and the cold of a winter’s evening. He can see the faint yellow light of the lamps pressing back fruitlessly against the gloom. From doors and windows comes the warm glow of life, the sound of which occasionally comes through as one door is opened. He dreams of turning into a particular inviting storefront, greeted by familiar faces and welcoming voices. He imagines the owner knows his name, that the waiter knows him well. He thinks of making small talk as he is shown to a cozy spot, greeting others along his way. He thinks of the waiter asking if he will have his usual, and of answer...

What if we could move through time the way we move through space? What if we could revisit not just the location, but the actual place we knew? To step back into the world we once inhabited, exactly the way we left it, the way we remember it. Recapture the fullness of what was, realizing it as what is. What would we do?             I dream of walking back into that world where the sun seemed to shine brighter, the air was fresher, the sky more vibrant... In my memory the former places just keep getting better. I go back to where they existed, and wonder why they have been forsaken, or abandoned, or destroyed, or simply changed. I wonder why it was not frozen forever in the moment when i was part of it. I am always aware of a profound sorrow lingering faintly in the back of my mind when I survey the places where I used to belong. It is as if I am haunted by my own ghost, watching the echoes of myself retracing the paths and rep...