One day, the wind conveyed a tune of a song we used to listen to as kids. Or rather, one we had to listen to.
How far had the wind travelled to bring us this reminder of a time we had long left behind?
It had been a sunny day when we ventured out for a picnic. The parents blasted an old song which we loathed.
On our way, we watched the cliffs from our car windows. During the day, they looked almost picturesque. As the sun set, the cliffs would lose their friendly mask and reveal the dangers lurking beyond. One mistake could have us all plunging down into what seemed like an endless pit.
Yes, that was a scary thought to have as a kid. I am afraid I have yet to get over that fear. In fact, it has gotten worse. What was once a passing thought lingers almost throughout every trip around the mountains. I once believed that I would be less afraid as I grew older. Now here I am, more anxious than ever.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the picnic and the blasted song that wouldn’t let us be. As we arrived at the picnic site, my ears were ringing. Perhaps the change in altitude was the reason and not the blasted song.
I no longer remember the details of the picnic. I remember the journey because of the song and the cliffs. I can’t recall the picnic; I just feel it.
I feel the merriment that surrounded me. I feel the contentment of a full stomach and a satisfied mouth. I feel the warmth of my mother’s hands on my abdomen as she pulled up my jacket zipper to warm me up.
If I close my eyes hard enough, I can even hear the rustling trees, the faint sound of insects, and the voices of my siblings calling me.
Those are what I imagine I heard and felt that day. Those are the memories I chose to recreate and hold onto tightly as I lose more of them every day.