Sometimes, when the wind is right and when the rays of the Sun bend just so and when there are no other sounds in the world… Sometimes when things are perfect, I feel I can remember things I’ve never experienced:

Old houses and cobbled streets and the clatter of hooves on rock and sputter of hot wicks boiling beeswax.

Virgin forest, hundreds of thousands of millions of aeons old, full of ancient beasts with too many antlers and too many eyes and moving mosses that grumble and talk to whomever will listen.

The smoky perfume of sconces toasting the edges of bound leather and gilded parchment, scenting the air of a stone lined chamber housing life upon life, all bleed out in the black of ink.

The bustle of cities and towns and villages with the garble of the voices of men and women and the shrieks of youths’ flirtations and the squeal of youngsters finding joy in the mundane.

The humble lowing of cattle and the staccato speak of various fowl who peck at the dirt and scuttle to avoid passing boots.

Yes, when everything is right, I can remember these times I never knew and places I’ve never visited and times I never populated. It’s only ever for a moment, and only ever lingers on the mind for half the length of a thought, and I always always wish it would last. But then it drifts off—dandelion fluff in a strong Spring wind—and I’m left still and grasping after it. That’s how those moments leave me: always still, always with my eyes closed and holding my breath. And then the pain of the Present will prickle my nerves and make hot my lungs, and I’ll begin to move and open my eyes and, with a little apprehension, I will let go of the breath I’d been holding and take in a new one.

It takes a moment to center myself, to remember where I was before that sudden flood of perfect remembering impossible things. But when I do recall and when I do go back to what I was doing before, it’s always with an air of grief; over being where I am rather than where I want to be.

And the day seems much longer then.

While you’re here, check out some of these other great pieces!

We Do Not Die

When you slip into a life of the mundane, it often feels as if you can’t escape the shackles of your own making.

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