These two photos, taken consecutively, differ primarily in zoom setting.
The one below more closely resembles what my eyes saw.
My days are layered. These days, one day is heaped upon another in an endless stream. Swirling currents from years gone by flow through them, join them, blur the edges, become them. Overlaid less intricately are glimpses of days to come; moments that are yet to have happened yet somehow seem to have already.
I stood for what seemed like ages gazing at the scene pictured above one morning not so long ago, after a night of heavy rain. The plum tree is almost bare and the orange tree in full fruit, but it is the carpet of freshly laid leaves on top of the old that I find most striking.
My mind has no memory of this particular scene, yet surely I looked upon it last year and the year before? Things more fast and slowly at the same time. At some point the day after, my mind confirms with certainty that I am sane: I cannot have inhabited this particular space before, since in the two previous years, the grass was at least two feet tall, and fallen leaves played no part before in the moments of glory that these layered mornings bring.
©2016 Allison Wright
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