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The Illusion of Permanence

January 21, 2015

Circa 66. I remember walking round my grandparents’ garden at Mill Way on Xmas day. This is where my mother used to play with her little brother a long time ago – But so much further away now (millions of miles in fact). The Apple and Pear trees in winter, gnarled and brittle. The path that circumvented the herbaceous borders. The old propagator frames in my grandfather’s greenhouse. The incinerator standing in the frozen ashes of the autumn bonfire. Back towards the house and the brick air raid shelter, the French doors with the single glazing held in finger printed putty and paint. Certainly all this is just a flicker on the universal scale, but you and me, we’re down with the ants scratching on the wall of this cave…I think I felt that that old time had gone, two world wars and all that was “the past”, but my time, now, was forever. The illusion of permanence, this present could never become that. Could never be distant.

© EKE

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