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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459967" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A strange glimpse of remembered moments</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dozing this morning – was I awake, <br>or was I asleep? for many minutes, <br>I entered a bright and shining world, <br>but of my own remembered moments; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">yet more than visual memories: <br>that state of mind, that happiness<br>which knows no other..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">all was brightest colour: <br>the first Mickey Mouse Weekly<br>to come out in full, rich colour; (I'll swear<br>it smelled different, too..) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the new craft room at school, <br>the intoxicating smell of open tins<br>of bright coloured enamel paint, <br>the smell of fresh-cut wood…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sunlight on ancient grey-gold stone; <br>oh, a whole repertoire of memories<br>on which there was no need to dwell, <br>for they declared their shared totality…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">but one brief, vivid glimpse I’ll share<br>for your amusement and what else: <br>slightly curled, from being rolled in the post, <br>a copy of ‘American Home’ from the late forties: <br>against a blue blue sky, white clapboard and<br>white picket fence; inside, a gingham apron, <br>a sweet-smelling pipe, proudly ruffled hair..<br>a gingham table-cloth, hand-stencilled furniture, <br>blue and white plates against a butter-yellow wall..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">all radiated promise, satisfaction, happiness; <br>as if winter sings of Spring; <br>all things were possible, and live on now; <br>but, above all, in myself, <br>a glorious sense – of ordinariness…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as if I was in place; had always been; <br>would always be; no other place to be, <br>no other self to seek, no world seen alien; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">our holiest, most precious, <br>self-sacred moments, when experienced, <br>have this glorious matter-of-factness; <br>saying, how could this be other? <br>The glorious, here, is ordinary…<br>and back in your familiar world, <br>the ordinary must be glorious; deserved; <br>and to be savoured as its truth…</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I opened my eyes, eventually; <br>saw no reason to deny that world; <br>to cover it with yes but, or, maybe; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">later thought, only a poem, <br>to share this, give this back.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459967" data-title="A strange glimpse of remembered moments de Michael Shepherd" data-description="Dozing this morning – was I awake, 
or was I asleep? for many minutes, 
I entered a bright and shining world, 
but of my own remembered moments; 

yet more than visual memories: 
that state of mind, that happiness
which knows no other..

all was..."></div>
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