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Times out of time

Remember when . . . we say in reminiscing, and set the scenes with nights and days and seasons. I think of children small and sweetly sleeping (wind in the branches on an April evening); moonrisings watched through leaf fall; youthful faces (their various tilts and laughters) of all ages. I think of friends in person and on pages, like sonnets read, lingering over phrases, through jonquil days and nights of jessamine. I think of these and know as each day passes, memories are made of times, not places.