It’s all coming back to me now
Usually when I endeavour to recall my early life in its entirety, I find that it is not possible. It’s like ascending a hill to survey the prospect before me on a day of heavy cloud and shadow and seeing at a distance, now here, now there, some feature in the landscape, a hill or some wood or tower or spire, touched and made conspicous by a transitory sunbeam while all else remains in obscurity. The scenes, people and events I am able by an effort to call up do not present themselves in order, there is no order, no sequence or regular progression - nothing , in fact but isolated spots or patches, brightly illuminated and vividly seen, in the midst of a wide shrouded mental landscape.
It is easy to fall into the delusion that few things thus distinctly remembered and visualised are precisely those which made a mark in my life, and on that account were saved by memory while all the rest has been permanently blotted out. That is indeed how our memory serves and fools us, for at some period of a person’s life, when in a rare state of mind, some scenes, people and events maybe revealed to us by a miracle that nothing is blotted out. Read more
A treasure trove of memories
Spring cleaning, airing out of rooms
And recesses of the mind
One stumbles on pleasant pleasurable treasures
From a distant past
Loves one thought would last
But, alas, never did
A stir of memories
Echoes of times and places
Now gone Read more
