A roar like the surf pounds in my ears...
Filtered light becomes a glare...
A blurry dream, there are noises, the words, then phrases...
Candles burn, first one, then two, then three...
Walking past the end table, through the door a bus appears...
Children with books and pigtails fill the world...
Classrooms become lecture halls, cafes turn to bistros...
A child crosses the path and the crash of glass rings in my ears...
A toast to the bride and groom...
Shimmering faces gleam through the tears.
In the doorway a child is waving goodbye...My grandson, I think....
What time does not pass so quickly that a blink seems an eternity.
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