Memories ...

- in the corners of my mind.

The colours, the tastes, the smells, not much light ever goes there. Deep purples like bruises, the dark green of the ocean depths, red-browns like burnt earth. Paper-dry rustlings of long ago days folded tight and sealed in shoe boxes, piled high with no labels, sneeze-inducing dust-filled harbingers in reverse. Occasionally the sharp smell of fresh-cut grass filters through or the noise and diesel fumes of a fun fair or the snap of bubble-gum, bringing with it a paper-cut of unfulfilled dreams, wrong decisions and wasted chances.

But - come out of the corners. There's a small but steady patch of light there, almost un-noticed, the motes of dust dancing as if in a sunbeam, dazzled by ribbons of hope and new dreams. Don't turn your eyes away from it - is it growing? Is it?