Moments

Moments

Ubiquitous time resting in polarities of heartache and eternal euphoria. A loving glance, touch, etched in the permanence of our hearts with love. Spoken anger and impatience, how I wish we could move space and gently fold back time. The sweet smell of warm August nights and honeysuckle, to remind us of the days, less worry and bountiful joy. The sound of a siren passing by in an otherwise ordinary moment, resurrects the sharp memory of the day our lives changed forever. Sunday mornings, the quiet, a gift bestowed on us, to reset, rest, and gently remind us to settle into the rituals of nurturing routine and simplicity. Looking out the window of the airplane on the way to say goodbye to a loved one, as you fly above the clouds you find peace and understanding that the universe is made of so much more than our limited senses comprehend. That first bite of warm apple pie that transports you to sitting at your Grandmothers table and the ever-present scent of cinnamon in her kitchen and the comfort of her unwavering love. Our moments, akin to a leaf floating on the ocean, she flows with the tide, the sun and moon decidedly dictate her path. The leaf surely experiencing days of glorious sunshine and tumultuous storms, all the while floating, always moving and never in control. Her story started long ago, she has travelled from limb to land, with tales of wind and glory. Equally fragile and strong, storing moments, built on a continuum connected time . The leaf of autumn, much like you and I. Glorious in her lifelong story, travelling in moments, without a sound.

By Alisa Hutton

Wonderland

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I I sometimes wonder if I read Alice in Wonderland too many times as a child. Perhaps too many rainy days spent outside as a 6 year old? In the quiet looking at the water rushing down the street creating great stories of wild, river adventures in my mind. While all the other kids were playing kick the can in the August heat there I was laying on my back in the grass forming animal shapes in the clouds. Watching neighborhood kids build tree forts while I sat on the cement contently drawing my pictures on scrap pieces of paper with my broken crayons.

Always observing, quietly watching. Not understanding it all but unbendingly curious. When life became noisy, felt unfair or hard I would make my own wonderland. Diving in to my vivid imagination full of color and magic. With a delayed blink I could transport myself to a wonderful place where the flowers grew better, the grass softer and greener, and the sky always bright blue with fluffy white clouds. Rainbows around every corner. Everyone smiled and was full of love in my wonderland. Hearts were so big and full you just had to stop and say hello to them.

With a delayed blink I can still transport myself there. I wonder, was it protective nature or early wisdom. Do we have imagination to make the world feel a little less lonely and harsh? Or maybe we have imagination because we are the people who are supposed to create a more magical world? Maybe we see it so others can believe a better world exist for them too?

Either way, I like my wonderland.

~Alisa Hutton