As I skim through life as easily as a plane flies through the clouds, I periodically step and look back. I flip through the invisible picture book called Memory. For some this is not as easy as it sounds. Memory fades, the pages burn, the pictures disintegrate, all into a blur. For me, young, foolish, and unwise, I can still flip through those imaginary pages and see everything (almost). Some pages have music, most not, some black and white, some color, all move to the beat of their own drum. Each page, or memory (good or bad) has their own story line or plot to them. And like any book, it doesn’t make sense if you skip around unless if you know the story. Fortunately, for me, this is my story so I can skip to any part with out worry.
The picture book and my take on it.