Ghosts of Days Gone By

There are days when I feel something in the air.

I wish I knew how to describe it properly. It’s not a smell, but it still fills my lungs when I take a breath. It’s not a breeze, but I can still feel it on my skin. It’s a sense I don’t have a name for.

It’s a feeling I don’t really have a name for, though a few come close. Nostalgia, maybe? Or general wistfulness?

Whatever it is, I can always tell when it’s coming. All it takes is a crisp autumn day, just toeing the line of being too cold. Or one of those bright, clear, sunny days of late spring and early summer, when everything is still and the sky looks bluer than you ever remember it being.

Days when I feel something in the air. Something that takes my mind back through all the years I’ve lived, and all the days like it that I’ve seen. There’s something floating up there, something that connects me to myself at every other point in time. “On a clear day, you can see forever”– that’s what I’d call this feeling, if feelings could be sentences and if I didn’t have such a complicated relationship with Barbra Streisand.*

It’s something that makes me feel more alive, and more present, than any other day. Something that reminds me that I’ve been alive, and for a lot longer than it sometimes feels like. It’s a reminder that all those other days I experienced were experiences, not just memories. So real and so vivid that if I were to close my eyes and concentrate, I’d open them and find myself there again.

Days when none of the little things seem to matter, because on these rare occasions my mind and the sky both are so clear that I can see the big picture for what it really is.

I don’t know why it happens, and I don’t know what it is. All I know is that there are some days- like today- when I can feel it in the air.

*That’s a blog post all its own.




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