Memories, Attics, Books and Forests

I’m packing up the things in the attic, going through documents and files. I sort into ‘coming with me’ and ‘staying in storage’.

After a while the redistribution reveals an old writing folder. It is then I have to look at how I am sorting. What have I been doing?

The folder straddles the groups. I may not find any ideas in here that I want to work on but it may make interesting reading for it takes me on a path back to who I was. It is like wending through a forest then standing at the edge of a glade and peeping in upon my past self toiling and playing and dreaming and planning. To see oneself so far away is a curious thing. There were so many future selves and lives then. The gap between then and now is the path of the one I lived.

Something Else That Happened on the Plane

WILD  MILD  LACK OF PATRIOTISM

The sun at take-off is piercingly bright, richly gold and, seemingly, liquid. Goodbye Australia, I think as I try not to stare into it. Then I actually feel my heart flutter.

I should say that, occasionally, for no particular reason, my heart misses a beat. A doctor recently advised that this was within the bounds of normalcy, we have no heart trouble in the family  and I have a good relationship with my heart, so I am content to simply enjoy the weird sensation that arises when it opts out momentarily. There’s a slight plummeting feeling in my body, much as one gets a fraction beyond the peak of a swing or the apex of a rollercoaster. This is not the same beat pattern I feel on the plane.