Book of Otter: Letting Go, Holding On

When you come right down to it, we all sweep together our memories into a tin dish and set them on the table. We shake them like river-silt in a pan, watching so much run away, peering anxiously into them for something we can take away and keep, something that will let us call ourselves rich.

The only thing that really stays in there besides precious memory is sad disappointed love, red on yellow, blood on gold.

But the best things in this life are the little nuggets you turn between your fingers, bite experimentally, and slip into your pockets. It's rare that we get to keep our happiness for long: but sometimes we steal a memory. Sometimes we steal a little of the blood of the gods. Sometimes, we are happy.

We hold to it.

Then we must let it go.

But it is no small thing to have held it for a time.