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I hold a collection of memories that approach perfection and defy time, all of them crystallized in late afternoon light. Dozing beneath a tree in voluptuous August heat. Floating in a body of water, feeling the gentle bobbing of my body as it fills and empties and fills again with breath. Sitting against a warm rock in a September breeze, watching birds glide against the gleam of the lake, the arm of my love radiating its soft heat against mine. The glow of a perfectly ripened, golden tomato resting on a camp table in a beam of sunlight. Another tomato, gleaming and blush-red, on another camp table, in another beam of sunlight. Tree branches covered with a coat of green leaves, swaying against a cloudless sky, viewed from beneath. Tree branches covered with a coat of golden leaves, swaying against a cloudless sky, their rustling murmurs being carried to me by a breath of wind that enters the window of my room, their buttery shadows cast through the window’s curtain onto the wall, onto the bed where I lay, onto the pages of the book I’ve been savoring. A last sleepy summer sigh that winds its way to me, perfuming my skin, in some woods grown ecstatic with the revelation of October. Watching campfire flames and drifting snowflakes knock each other out forever.

Many moments gather like raindrops on a vine when I hear the vertiginous benevolence of “butterflies” and I thrill to recall them as each song swirls into being.

The instruments are alive and breathing, the microtones are a teeming forest floor, the melodies are wild roses quivering, and Omeed’s voice a thread passing through the eye of the infinite, both guiding and aimless, a sprite dancing on the giddy edge of vision, beautiful like sleeping, beguiling like dreaming.

I think of Mary Oliver asking “Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?”

I imagine myself crystallized in late afternoon light.

-jen powers, October 2026