I love to see marks from the past.  The way things were, and how people did things.  And who stood where.  The great things, and the small things.  And the weight that is felt from simple rituals that burn into a time place after having occurred habitually day after day.  Drinking a glass of water over the sink.  Practicing the piano in that same spot, and grunting in dismay when a mistake is made.  Hugging guests upon entry into one's home.  Pouring scoops of food into a dish for the cat.

And also that people were pretty much the same then as they are now.  And our stories are reflective of their stories.  Even though we have the internet now, and cell phones, and reality TV.  And they had books, baskets, and bonnets.

But anyway, I guess I'm a bit thoughtful about that whole space/time continuum (I honestly really don't even know what I'm talking about), and I have always felt the fourth dimension as if I could reach out and touch the past and future, if only I could see them.

Scars and mars.  Wrinkles.  Scrapes.  Evidence of how one lived life. 

Here we go, Day 309: https://ia700803.us.archive.org/23/items/Improv61812/20120618212945.mp3