In my town of Prairie Village, where Cherokee Lane completes its winding climb up from Tomahawk Creek to 75th Street, there stands in a median an unintended shrine. Two unnamed goddesses, though I think of them as Demeter and Persephone, flank a large plaque naming the neighborhood behind them (Prairie Hills) all surrounded by a bit of garden. Until yesterday, behind the plaque stood an enormous conical evergreen, which some years someone arranged to have lit for Christmas. Seeing the tree gone, I thought how outliving anything is a mark of longevity but also a notice. The bell tolls for all yall.

I thought of this song yesterday, too. It’s a longtime favorite, and yet this is the first time I remember remembering it for at least a year, a year through which I have turned again and again to longtime favorites for comfort and advice. In my thinking of this song yesterday, I remembered the chorus, and the long chorus.

Just being alive
It can really hurt
And these moments given
Are a gift from time
Just let us try
To give these moments back
To those we love
To those who will survive

And I thought, yes. Yes. Stories are all that go on, and stories live by repetition or by monument, and neither is perfect or permanent, and these are among the conditions that make the gift of moments possible. Only in silence, the word — before and after. But, just let us try: bright, the hawk’s flight on the empty sky. Tell all the stories; leave all the records. Moreover, live all the moments. Don’t miss the gift. Be a story worth telling.

And I wondered about not remembering this song. It isn’t long, and in some ways is among the saddest songs I know, and about cherishing moments through and against loss. When I went looking for it this morning, I was initially shocked and disappointed that the title wasn’t “Moments” but “Moments of Pleasure”. Surely, it isn’t about that?

But it is. Of course it is. I had forgotten.

(I hadn’t ever seen the video before. It’s possible, maybe especially if you know the song well, to get bored — or dizzy — watching Kate Bush spin so that you, I don’t know, close your eyes or look away. Hang on till the 5 minute mark.)

(Hawk in flight courtesy of Garden Walk Garden Talk.)