Boston and Return

Boston and Return

Boston and Return

Boston and Return

Excerpt

There is a poignant pleasure that comes in the writing of one's past, a pleasure which can be put to use provided the writer is able to see himself as he sees the leaves in autumn dropping one by one, year after year. The dying leaves speak of coming finality, but the persistence of their shape, intact until buried beneath winter snows, brings a reminder of springtime when first they opened to the sun, brings the promise of another springtime on ahead bright with new urgencies.

Thus does a life fluctuate between the past and the future, moving with a rhythm as regular as the denial and promise of earth, as repetitive as the drifting of the waves upon the shore, forward and back, forward and back. In the end it is difficult to choose between what leans backward and what lies ahead. Looking upon the sinuous line of one's being, which mingles events in their sequences and casts away dates that hamper the flow, one sets down the thing remembered and allows it so to stand, hoping that the beat of one's heart may, throughout, remain constant and true.

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