The glittering hour

And then one of your little days, like a kingfisher, will fly over the waters, diving own beneath the opaque golden surface of your mind, where swim your earliest, submarine memories. What is caught is a tiny primeval memory that should mean nothing, a throwaway. Yet when pulled out of the water, gripped in a birdbeak, lashing the air and throwing flashing grapefruit-coloured waterdrops from its glittering tiny perishing silver self, this forgotten, underwater matter will suddenly mean the world to you — the long lost glittering hour that means more than age, more than logic, more than lore.

Things That Are by Amy Leach (2012)


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