There are moments, rare
when you can see the change, when you can watch time passing.
There are moments, deep in memory
where dreams are born and your heart is shaped, crafted, sculpted and painted with experience.
The television set in the living room of my home, my first home, where I grew up, where my memories still live, alive with flickering blue and white against a green background, mixing with the glow of Christmas tree lights and advent candles on a winter's night in 1969, and my father and I on our knees as if in prayer watching a futile attempt to go ahead on a two point conversion only to find redemption and a second chance from the twelfth player on the field that lead to an improvised frantic finish that won the game and forever my heart.
There are moments, rare
when time stands still, when a passing spirit pauses
and you can wave good bye
and say thank you one more time.