Long Term Memory

The local church has no long-term memory. Three years ago: huge fight, yelling, crying, late night phone calls, definitions of orthodoxy flying back and forth, families leaving, much gnashing of teeth. Today: nobody remembers. Nobody is around who even knows that a fight once took place. Some would say, the event never even happened.

The desert, however, has a much longer memory. The pile of barbed wire today may be lacking even fence posts, but the desert remembers. The fence ran just over there, with posts made of Osage Orange brought in on the wagon of a homesteader. The homesteader died long ago, his bones are buried over there. His wagon is gone as well, fallen apart, rotted, scavenged for firewood. A few of the metal pieces can be found if you dig in the right spots. Even the fenceposts are gone, leaving this pile of wire. But the desert does not forget.