Notebook Memories

As I walk among the trees
and the carefully cultivated plants,
their plaques begging passersby
to share in their knowledge,
I reach for my phone,
part camera, part brain,
to add, with a photo,
another memory to my collection.

But those memories quickly fade,
each photographic memory
less memorable as a photo
shining brightly from a screen.
I find my hand hesitating,
hoping to find an option more permanent

A possibility percolates,
reminiscent of renaissance scientists.
My hand gravitates towards
my notebook and pen.

And I draw.

Each line from the pen etches
a deep remembrance into
the metal of my mind.
The careful trail of ink
translating to the solid foundations
Of a sturdy memory.
The shape of the leaves,
the texture of the wood,
the flowers, fruits, and fragrances
linger
as my finger grips the pen,
an anchor to the past.

As I finish, the tree stays with me,
more complete,
more vibrant
than any 4K display
which catches fleeting moments
only to release them back
into the chaotic rivers of time

Armed only with pen and paper,
I am finally able to capture-
and keep-
my memories.