By Gavin Murphy
Birth is the beginning
Or maybe even in the womb.
The beginning of memories.
They accumulate like raindrops.
So numerous as to be incalculable.
From a lifetime of experiences
Each, no matter how trivial,
Lived in full,
For a few seconds or for years…
Neurons connected by synapses
That become part of a mosaic,
A complete consciousness.
A life, long or short.
Like a tree that has put down roots,
Grown branches, sprouted leaves,
Leaves that are like memories.
So many. So shimmery.
Some already fading.
One year autumn comes
And the leaves fall Again.
They float to the ground one by one.
Dead leaves in piles.
But the tree is old now and in spring
The leaves don’t return.
Hollowed out and withered,
The tree still stands
But remembers nothing.
Posted February 2025
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