Slices of time. We live out our lives, and only occasionally a memory is made. It's a mystery to me how and when certain memories are made... they get created when you least expect them, and sometimes don't get made no matter how hard we try or purpose in our hearts to create them. I'm not sure where we keep all our memories. It seems like they like to hide somewhere, set adrift until something comes along to wash them to the shore, like a song, a scent, or a picture.
It seems like I don't have too many memories, at least not as many as I believe I should have. I grew up before this beautiful digital age. These days, we can take pictures until our arms get tired of holding the camera, or the battery runs out, or our memory card gets overcrowded. No more film, no more "22 pictures left" read outs on the camera. Now, more of our memories can be coaxed back to shore. Of course, not every memory is a "good" one, but they make up who we are, and we need them on the shore every now and again.
Beautiful.
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