Oasis memory.

Cut adrift from the drab and boring,beneath the shopping lists of memories dos,my Oasis memory resided.As if cut off from my normal reality,I grasped it,drew up its moisture as if from a well.It wasn’t easy to draw it up,it being buried deep into the humid of my subconscious.If I hadn’t have been so indolent today,replete with my total lack of activity,I would have missed it.Redundancy was my tutor as the mirage of the scene was presented to me.Not content with just observing the memory water,I set about collecting it in a glass vial,so convinced I was that I had to grasp it.

It is never easy to admit that you can find a personal treasure of the mind by just the sole process of complete inactivity,but that was how it transpired today.Like a gift ,like a chance happening,an enormous slice of luck,I drank this memory from a parched,impotent cerebral state and I drank it in one large gulp.It completely satisfied my mental thirst,the power of which I can but give no thanks,no reciprocal response but I can treasure it,I can retell it.

However,before I retell it completely ,I must protect it,like an otter in a river,I will guard my memory ,dress it in finery,synaptic silk,embroidered in all the careful stitches to preserve it in perpetuity.You understand dear readers,don’t you that I have to do this,to entrust it’s essence ,to protect it.No,it’s not Clandestine,but it’s precious enough not to be revealed to another who might not appreciate its qualities you see.Its provenance is without doubt,but my naysayers might question the authenticity of the memory ,question wether the event ever took place you see.To elaborate,why would this oasis exist in the mind of a non published writer,thinker or Philosophical mind.?That strikes me as fair ,not in the cynical sense,but in the nature of intellectual honesty.

So,dear reader,I’m going to drip feed my oasis memory from its vial one drop at a time until it is complete.By this recollection,I make no boasts of comparisons with anyone else,as I’m very new to literature,to this art,but my passion and sincerity is true.Am I authentic?Well,I know others that probably more so,but I know that my mental moisture this afternoon was real to me and maybe after the first drop,extracted from my vial will intrigue you to read more.

Here is my first memory drop ,it began with the scent of a white rose ,propagated in the year 1930.

I’ve put the stopper of my memory vial on now,but tomorrow I will take out another drop of this memory that ,I hope will attract your curiosity too.

Thank you for your kindness.

Kernowsmith.

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