A Doll

There are moments, admittedly few and far between

They erupt only on an afternoon when even the breeze becomes the color of granite. Within seconds they block the purity of the seemingly everlasting snowfall blanketing the winter landscape.

Although opaque they completely eliminate the entrance to serenity. Even the slivers of anticipation of spring and sunshine and Will’s Sunday visits are denied entrance into my limited world.

Rather as I attempt to return to Galway’s soothing sounds other unwelcome memories emerge.

Moments in life, that now seem almost fictional, with the passage of time, and the losses unforeseen.

Unlike those preserved in the voluminous parchment letters entwined with blue silk that resurrect yesterday’s love, the uninvited moments of memory offer no comfort.

Nor any solution to the angst of lost opportunities

.The magical flute continues with insistence forcing fragments of remembrance to return.

A turbulant flight home from CA after a son’s recovery when the cabin suddenly filled with music. Sounds I had not heard before, but would forever more remind me of a miracle.

Hours later I learned I had heard the memorable “I Started A Joke” played as an instrumental by the virtuoso flute player from Belfast.

Today it ends briefly as the bleak moment of winter’s reality takes control and another memory returns of a doll called Molly and another little girl who once played the flute.

And I remember that was oh, so very long ago, and probably just a lovely dream I once had.

As I return to the reality and comfort of Sir James Galway.