I am coming back here. To this east coast. For just a time this fall. A few short months though still they will be long. For I will away from my west coast home of soft, sweet beaches and citrus mornings to be here for fall foliage and east coast cold.
The journey back this week gives me pause. A good thing. For now I am prepared for when I am back again in six weeks time.
You see, Massachusetts, in its full trees and lush breeze, is too familiar.
Everywhere I turn are stories deep in colors red. Memories overflow my mind space. And taunt my heart. And soul and spirit also.
The stage I graced where once I was is not only theater bound but a town, a street, a secret space and silent place filled with crowds. And empty, too.
I drive, town to town and street to street and place to place and still these things that were back there then are now here still.
I want to drive down pleasant streets and ancient towns and see the new in them. See not the stories old and full but ripe of this new heart. And sweet from now warm breath.
I want to make new memories.
I want them to be clean. And Fresh. And capture and hold gently close the me that is here now and not the me that was there then.
And though I will not forget what I remember now in all these places still, my new stories will be softly formed with rounded edges and the sweet melody of a violin and the deep resonance of cellos. And softly played piano keys.
This will be my memory musical score.