The memories I hold fast,
gathered as a child
when time moved slow,
and every breeze
was a new lesson whispered.

The slam of the old screen door,
a bird’s familiar song,
a scent that pulls me back,
the smell of breakfast rising
from the kitchen,
as I rubbed the sleep
from my eyes before school.

These were the treasures,
but as a young man
I had no time to open them.
I was running headlong into life,
chasing work, love,
the next horizon,
while those memories waited patiently,
content to live beside me,
quiet as shadows
until I was ready to see them.

But now, as an old man,
I move more slowly.
The chase is behind me,
the horizons have been met.
Now I pause,
I listen,
I lean into silence,
and there they are again:
the echoes, the scents, the songs
I once outran.

For every small detail
is a doorway,
a hidden passage
to where I once belonged.
A secret trip
to long ago.