A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

Not as a print is stamped upon the surface of paper, but deeply and in sharp outline as a design is tooled into the substance of leather, are the recollections of those earlier years imposed upon my mind. The distinct flavor of each experience is strong and aromatic still.

The cycle closes. I must go on alone. Ahead wait years whose fullness, still unguessed, holds other, deeper joys. The door stands open; my hand is on the latch. I turn to look once more, to gather to my heart the treasures that I still may keep, though others I must leave.

The jewels of the vanished years glow bright before me. I choose a garnet for understanding given, the emerald of self-denial, an amethyst for sadness shared, a ruby blood-red in its love, a diamond, clear, on fire with faith that will not die. These I may keep.

Now I must truly go. One last, long look—the home, the loved ones. As they move about, I softly close the door. It was just so.