Dear Reader; Etruscan, Phoenicians, Sinistras, Sinaguas, Levites, Egyptians and many Moors. Pot shards, polyglyphs, bones and crumbled walls recall. Buried scratch marks on the flesh of times past recalling people just like us; who lived, who loved, who shat and spake and might have eaten birthday cake. The earth is our scrapbook upon whose pages we gaze at a forgotten momento of a living soul or civilization illuminated for a flicker and pressed like a flower upon its pages. I stand at my sunny window looking at the crumbling walls and I see countless swirling flecks frantic in the light. Each fleck is for one past human life.
Always they fill everywhere air, yet have been hidden from my sight. Oh, let me in another day recall, that as I breath their memories enter and leave, giving me the life force that is mine. I stand at my sunny window, looking at the crumbling walls and I take a deep breath; an inspiration.