Where Is When
Once upon a time.
Was it ever there, can it ever come again? How can I tell? Does it really matter?
Faded blue, very pale, a bit tattered, a tail like a comet’s streaming, winking out, an echo or a shadow. Palest shades of gold, fading to pale palladium, then a mere mist of tainted white, a lost memory, a stillborn sigh.
Is long ago the past or a memory in training for a future lost, a wrong turn, a winter’s sky spent inside instead of lying on a field, shivering deliciously, counting endless stars. One of those illusions reflected in waking dreams, there for an instant, fully formed, a lifetime long, then gone forever in an instant, at first a trace and then, well, just gone.
Where do those musings and perceptions go? Are they hints of paths untaken, lonely futures never lived. Are they ours or just the traveling traces of possible lives sundered from their would-have-been owners and now just flitting on an endless sojourn visiting stranger’s minds?
How far is far, where are its borders and what’s on its nether side; is there someone waiting, someone longed for in a language not understood, an insight that passed unnoticed in the night, a moonless, cloudy night where not even one’s steaming breath could be perceived?
Where is when, when you really need it?
 © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2011; all rights reserved