It’s been a while since I blogged. Sorry. No excuse. Perhaps I should offer one, but then that would be a blog about why I haven’t blogged. Now, wouldn’t that be a blogger? So instead, I am adding something to this blog that – perhaps – I normally would not. I’m waxing poetic here, a few scribbles about what happens internally at the first instance I scan a date. All this goes through my head, like some computer boot up sequence: introduce electricity and bam, ones and zeros everywhere flying about at nearly the speed of light. So, forgive me for my bit of poetic licensing on, of all things, history.

I look at a date and it tells me that it’s no longer here, that it once was, and when it was… it was. Stuff happened on that day, and then that day went dark. Then it was the next day. And on that day stuff happened, too. And so on, and so on, so that we begin to remember them. We write it down. We paint it. We orchestrate music to it. We raise a symbol, a flag, a glass so that the day, that day, it does not go dark but merely, and with slowness, simply fades.

Some dates hold more water. We put these days in sheds. But the other days, I think, are just as important, for these are the days in which the sheds are built. These are the foundational days, the days with doors, and joist, and perhaps some shelving. Without these days…water, water everywhere.

So yes, the date, the date that went, perhaps held water, or not, where stuff happened, where music played, where painters painted, and where writers wrote, this date, it is no longer here. But it is a date, that without, I would not be here.

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