Transmutation

What happens to memories? Do they take flight? What ones remain deeply embedded in the interior of our bodies? Etched, I imagine, in our sinews, ready to spring out whenever a string shows up. And each cord, tethered to the recollection tugs until it loosens the trace and fishtails to the surface.

Once a draught catches the tail the entire story emerges , slightly altered. Each telling deviating from the previous telling—the juncture of time and context add layers or shift the content.