03 March, 2011

Marbles, Lost My

Clear glass marbles, with a dash of colour through the middle.

That's what it's like - when you see someone in one of their moments. One of the scenes with them that get frozen in your head, that you will revisit and polish in strange and pleasing colours until-

It's like a small marble, that moment - with the person at the centre, the bluish swirl that sits inside. It doesn't know it's inside a marble - everyone else can see the marble, but the swirl inside never can. It's too busy being a swirl.

Another marble.

There is a photo and a story, and I think about them both quite often. The photo is of a young New Zealand nurse who is now in her eighties. It is black and white, but her smile is so alive. It spreads across her whole face.

The story goes like this. This nurse, she is very intelligent, and she jumps over fences and laughs and makes people do spontaneous things. She is loved by everyone.

The brief story sometimes seems more vivid to me than when I see the woman in her eighties. She is quiet, and smiles at me with watery eyes. She rarely speaks. Sometimes she says "hello, darling," or "goodbye, my love". But mostly she sits and sleeps.

If I put the two marbles next to each other, it is sometimes difficult to see that the swirl in the centre is the same.

I feel like I spend lots of time collecting marbles.

They always seem so dusty when I pull them out years later, and I wonder why I keep them.

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