I may be able to hold perfectly still, yet I cannot get a hold on a moment. Not a single one. No matter how hard I try. Not by photographing, filming or journaling. Moments fleet.
Like snowflakes, moments begin to lose their intricacy and accuracy and crystal-clarity as soon as you pick them up. They melt into something different altogether. Snowflakes into drops. Moments into memories. Both things that flow and mold to the shape of what or who catches and holds them.
Since my mother’s moments are gone, it’s the memories of her moments that I’m after.
Not something crystalline and cool, but something fluid and warm.