Seems these memorials, for lack of a better word, do indeed fly at one one quickly, striking as swiftly as a breeze..often leaving nothing more tangible..
But one is constantly struck, these past few hours, with the taste of a chocolate popsicle on a hot summers day, and the desperate effort to stem the inevitable flow of it down the stick and into the web of your thumb.. it was far more of a challenge while racing a bike, a bicycle that would be, chasing Peter Hall, Brian Broome, Doug Hanson through the 'woods' which went through our backyard. The sound of the tyres rushing over dried leaves and branches, dodging the worst of the rocks but so familiar with the place the smaller ones could be used for 'daredevil' stunts, such as doing a quarter-wheelie for five feet or so. That, in those days, was impressive..
The sounds of the boys voices, in a time when nearly all was said with a smile, and most accompanied by a laugh.
Red liquorice sticks, and Smarties in boxes far larger than those sold today. The smell of these things, the candy, the woods, the heat of the day itself, is all so vivid, it could be happening..
Perhaps it's a feature of age, when we are not so concerned with the concept of 'now', and the future seems to be unfolding as it will, with our resignation if not acceptance, that we can actually enjoy this present, and allow the past to return to us, for perhaps nothing more important than amusement.
Whatever the reasons we have been allowed this ability, it is a gift. We should thank ourselves.