Robin May Flemingのインスタグラム(robinmay) - 7月24日 04時35分

In Toronto these past few days, I saw mirrors in which I'd not seen myself in years. That's not a metaphor. That's not poetry. That's not abstract pontificating for the purpose of filling space. Literally, I saw myself reflected in surfaces that used to be a part of my morning commute, my midday wander, my evening stroll... And it was against these familiar backdrops--with signage, shops, and billboards upon billboards, peering over my shoulder, whispering--that I saw suddenly! starkly! vividly! My aging face. (Exclamation point!) Who is SHE? It was like holding up a picture of me now to a memory of me then, and playing spot the difference. Except the game was very, very short, because the changes were there in stark relief, in canyons upon my face, in rivers carved deep around my eyes and my mouth. This is where the experience has flowed; I know, I know, I know. There is beauty in the passage of time and in its winding progress across the smooth prairies of our face. But still I scrambled back to the trees as soon as our visit was done, to the trees where I feel timeless, endless, unwritten, and unengraved, and I breathed there for longer than usual, filling the lines with the wind and my eyes with the trees, and carefully I forgot.

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