I would have some way to remember the fleeting moments,
some words capable of capturing the scent of a scene,
the glint and flash of a single maple leaf floating down towards the ground in the autumn sun,
a flock of leaves in formation between branch and ground.
the smiles and coos of my baby,
the size of her hands and the curve of her pouty lip.
the dizzy sensation of flying in time as we drive through the mountains,
sitting in the backseat and looking out the window.
the trees flicker past.
the shape of each mountain known
by some deep, old part of my younger self.
memories of memories and children of children;
we are immersed in a recursive world.

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