I have a friend in Prague who sits on the other side of this window. She looks a bit like me, perhaps a year or two younger, perhaps a bit thinner. Elegantly put together. She sits thinking and musing, pen in hand, poised to capture poetry on paper when the words fly from the sky. On the other side of this window she is surrounded by romantic and historic looking European things, like sepia toned photographs of her grandparents who lived on a farm, old musty leather bound books that smell like dust and learning, and ornate heavy wooden furniture that’s been passed down through the generations.
When my friend opens up the metal doors she can see weeds and the blue sky, and she can remember me in her city. My friend knows that I had to return home and she is fine with that because I was able to visit her city for a little while, and I brought the flavor of California to her. I left behind memories for her to keep safe, memories that both she and I can recall, because they are my memories too. My friend in Prague is a part of me, frozen in the past and captured in photos. She becomes fuzzy and warm, whenever I recall the experiences, the sights and sounds and tastes of being there. She becomes more alive each time I relive a moment or see again in my mind’s eye, a gorgeous view.
My friend in Prague is me. The me who was there, and the me who still remains there, serving up the happy and beautiful memories of my visit for our mutual enjoyment. My friend will encourage me to remember and to embellish and make warmer and more rich the hours I spent in Prague. Until one day far ahead in the future, my friend in Prague will be the keeper of a grand, “once in a lifetime” memory that will have become a bit of a legacy, a milestone, a marker of my life’s adventures.
There I sit on the other side of the iron doors, beside the window, dreaming of Prague and weeds.
Did you ever visit a place and leave a piece of yourself there? It feels that way to me.
Please come back tomorrow for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like.
We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be.