Returning to the things you love, actions of past memories make the new movements familiar once more. Reading and writing those are the things of the moment, a moment called back to light with the twisting turns of the revolving wheels of a rocking train. The Locomotive is loud, diesel fueled and distrustful. Is it irony that right after carefully cleaning the linens bad things happen to them nearly immediately.
She just wants to dream. That is a simple observation to make when one is awake. Long into the hours of the night. Or not really that long into the night. It’s still awfully early by my own past standards. In times past drawing (writing) was something often dreamed of. My mind desires comfort, do not worry it tells itself. Something might need to be learned. That is what we (You and I) are doing, while we are off exploring this landscape (knowledge scape?) which we have let another describe.
Sometimes in the present the words of those from the past echo through my thoughts. The memories are more frequent from different times to different times. Sometimes I recall how once, in a different time, the things which occupied my thoughts, now seem like strange, faint and foreign memories. It seemed important to spend some moments writing. It’s been so long since wandering was permitted. I do not want to lose my sense of adventure just because the world seems to have dominated identity.