Ahoy you scurvy dogs! Arrrr! If one be a pirate it’d be booty; A chest filled with doubloons, jewels and gold. Aye me matey, that be treasure! No this is not Talk Like a Pirate Day! Avast! If you are a pirate, even a Russian one, that be September 19 or in three more days regardless of which language you talk in.
Real treasure is priceless. Like discovering Tarzan by Jane in a jungle, while riding an elephant. Or stumbling across some crazy place like Lazy Town with a girl like Stephanie on the left. Yes a real treasure is one that remains always yours and can never be bought. But it can be shared. Perhaps it be a memory? As when you listened to a dear one tell tales about their good old days. Such things being cherished more so as they are departed.
Nothing can bring those stories back. Not the way they told them. Even my meager attempts to repeat such fail. I always get something wrong. Still their last spark be a torch needing to be passed on.
My treasure is found in the hunt itself. Discovering things I never knew ignites visceral excitement. My hairs stand on end upon finding a previously lost fact. Often it opens a new trail to follow. Satisfaction settles in as solidification of memory brings what was a glimmer, fully into our reality. Only then can we fully appreciate an old tale’s preciousness. When hearing stories from our ancestors I think upon how many we may have forgotten since hearing them. What a loss! So finding even a scrap, that be a titanic treasure!