West With Giraffes

by Lynda Rutledge

Moses put two fingers to his lips and made a noise that was something between a crow being murdered

a robin being courted. In less than a minute, six younger, burlier copies

All I had to do was get to tomorrow.

as I drank in the sight of the two gentle, forever-forgiving giraffes . . .

In the years ahead, through the War and beyond, it was this quiet day moving through the unmoving land with Boy and Girl and the Old Man and Red that I returned to when I needed it most. Like the jolting joy of giraffes amid the traveling bird wave, its peace passed any understanding, any attempt at words. You only get a few of those in your whole life if you’re lucky, and

some only get one.

Time heals all wounds, they say. I’m here to tell you that time can wound you all on its own. In a long life, there is a singular moment when you know you’ve made more memories than any new ones you’ll ever make. That’s the moment your

truest stories—the ones that made you the you that you became—are ever more in the front of your mind, as you begin to reach back for the you that you deemed best.