A sense of place: It drives me to explore the immediate world around me. All of what has happened in a place remains, even if the only things left are clues. These hints — discarded scraps of human treasures, rotted stumps of massive trees, carved hollows in rocky soil — express a quiet rhapsody of the past.
Suppose you had a time machine, one that could transport you to a different time in the same place. To when would you go? Or would you stay exactly when you are?
Thoughts from When Would You Go:
I immediately thought of a time capsule for memories. Not one for artifacts or symbols or descriptions or – well, any tangible, but one that could encapsulate, encompass a memory itself, only one, and no other thing. A memory not as it “actually” happened in some universally accepted data set, but as it is for you, within you.
What memory leaps to be chosen? How/what will that memory be for your heirs and other inheritors of this present?