Summer Abstracts

Most stories are too loud for me to hear. Too complicated for me to fully understand. The stories parents tell children about why they left and never returned. The stories politicians tell patriots about why they must go to war. The stories preachers preach about why women should be grateful for every blessing they receive from God and man.

There are too many perspectives. Too many details forgotten–out of convenience or flaws in our mental recollection. Or a combination of convenient forgetfulness that lay a well-worn path detouring truth and shame as the story gets told over and over. When truth is arbitrary, stories become myths.

Though I love a good read, I’m more interested in the small, quiet moments within the tale. No need to give reasons or place blame. No need to know where we are going or where we have been. Only–

The light reflected off fall leaves.

The smell of stale, briny waters.

The sound of a child’s laughter.

And, the feeling that only these moments matter more than any of the stories we try to tell to make sense of our senses.

Moments are like abstract painting­­s–flashes of memory that take us out of the story and into a feeling, flush and overwhelming without perspective. I can almost feel the white-hot sun, taste the salt in the air, hear the children yelling as waves chase them back to shore where they belong in this new, abstract, summer series. Summer moments never last long enough.