WATERMARK

Blue Collage by sbpoet for Ironscrapper, a challenge at scraporchard

As I struggle to get my blog back up, I am hit by a gale of nostalgia. Nostalgia is a word I have seen roll through my media threads lately, but let it go by, unknowing that it would soon be relevant. 

In the early years, 02003 was my first posting attempt, it was very different. The World Wide Web was not The Internet. Of course time has dimmed my memories, and no doubt shifted them as well. What I remember is a blogging community, people whom I met only online, who helped and encouraged me. 

Some of you are still here. I wasn’t, for a few years. I see the vacancies in the resurrected blog, the months of silence. No doubt I was silent elsewhere, too; silent on the blogs of my WWW friends. 

Now, I miss it. All of it. The community, the fresh excitement of meeting someone new, someone interesting, a new way of making language, new thinking, new art. New eyes. 

We built something. Now I discover that I was not the only one to fade. I learn that blogrolls are obsolete, that writers no longer exchange links and comments and follows that lead, eventually, to more of the same. 

I learn that nostalgia is a kind of grief. 

                        the buddha in the window well
                        wet with spring rain
                        remembers snow, its white shawl