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Cataloging the past

Time moves like wind through the grass, ruffled by moments, sometimes sleeping, sometimes vibrant.

And suddenly, here I am.  I'm 33 until my next birthday.  I've got two kids and a husband.  I'm settled and settling continuously. 

I'm not really sure how that happened.

I've been staring at the faces of my past this afternoon, rifling through moments caught in the snap of a lens.  Some of these people are as familiar as my own shadow.  The moments and memories exist, still, in the corners of reality.  I catch their laugh on my lips, I feel their breath in my hair, I see their dimples on my cheeks.  They are part of me and separate from me all at once.  I search the frozen moments close, taking in the fine details of uplifted smiles and distracted fingers.  I am acutely aware there is someone behind the camera, probably making funny faces, probably exasperated that the children won't look all at the same moment, probably bursting with pride. 

There is familiarity in that, too.

Someday soon, I won't be 33.  The moments of this age will only be colors on film.  I'm not sure how I feel about that yet.

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