Where is now?
Where do we live?🏠🧠
I remember being in my granny's garden touching the perfect blobs of water sitting amongst the spirals of these plants (can someone help me with the name of them? Go on mum - what are they?)
🕷️The spiders would join the tops of the taller tips together
🦖 They seemed to me ancient and almost like a living fossil of a plant
💭And I imagined sitting in my own, grown-up, garden with my own pots of spirals, tucked neatly together
The memory of those moments, sitting on the paving stones with feet damp from the grass, are part of what make the moments of sitting on my own step with the sun on my face and a little pot of spikey spirals so damn special.
I guess the thought I'm trying to articulate is - We can only live in the now, but the stories we hold of our experiences shape that so vividly that it can be like living in that memory instead.
The narratives we use to frame our now can be everything from totally neutral to intensely difficult and more besides..