The Scent of a Future that Might Still Be
Memories: a stew of echoes and shadows; fog steaming in from the past to shape the present and spy on the future. Colors bleached and faded, almost blanched with hints of something more, reminiscing of brighter, fuller, sunnier days; days spent shining amidst iridescent rainbows.
Yesterdays: accumulating in long crystalline columns, not quite orderly in the middle, radiating myriad emotions, simmering like seemingly peaceful volcanic lakes, touching the shores of today and reflecting in the skies of tomorrows.
Remembrances of joys and sorrows meld, spiking and diving, then resting in languorous beds of boredom and despair; waking with traces of false memories playing in valleys and canyons hidden between weary dreams, then vanishing with nary a trace.
Winds blow through those mired in the present when it’s become the past, carrying scents from what should have been the future, hints ignored seeking to tempt them back onto the road not traveled. Sometimes chill but every once in while warmed by playfully, teasing zephyrs.
Hearing memory’s murmurs and inhaling the scent of a beckoning future, some few sometimes seek to extract themselves from the relentless pull of primordial quicksilver lakes onto trails of a future that might still be. Can one of them be me?
 © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2011; all rights reserved