“Why, what’s the matter,/ That you have such a February face,/ So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?” —William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

I don’t know if February is the stormiest and cloudiest time of year, but it certainly is the month during which I can no longer recall the sensation of warm sun on my face, the feeling of leaving home unencumbered by several layers of clothing, or the pleasure of leisurely sitting in a downtown sidewalk cafe watching an ever-changing parade of people. It’s in February that I turn to last year’s spring and summer photographs to stimulate my memory of how it was and (hopefully) will soon be again.

My inability to remember the physical sensations of summer doesn’t surprise me, though. Just a few minutes ago I forgot why I walked into the kitchen, and I too often forget the point I was trying to make midway through expressing it.

But aside from those temporary lapses, memory can be a fickle and even cruel friend. I think I remember something. Actually I remember it quite clearly, but someone who shared that experience with me says it wasn’t that way at all. Or in explaining an event from the distant past I realize that my story is at best a partial and selective recollection of what happened and why it occurred.

Our memories often reflect what has transpired during the intervening months or years as much as the “facts” of the event itself. That’s one of the drawbacks of eye-witness testimony in courts.

“Rarely do we tell a story or recount events without a purpose,” George Fisher and Barbara Tversky say. “Every act of telling and retelling is tailored to a particular listener; we would not expect someone to listen to every detail of our morning commute, so we edit out extraneous material. The act of telling a story adds another layer of distortion, which in turn affects the underlying memory of the event.”

But memories can also be surprisingly loyal friends. A song on the radio or a particular aroma can stimulate a stream of free-flowing memories and strong emotions. Or, for no apparent reason, I recall an incident from my childhood that includes a vivid sense of a parent who passed away many years ago. What amazing gifts those memories are!

Photos can also evoke memories that embody a physical sensation, which brings me back to last year’s photos and the anticipation they provide of a springtime that is now only weeks away. I remember (or at least I think I do) someone once saying, “To live well is to live well three times: once in anticipation, once in the experience, and once in our memories.” My photos evoke the pleasure of those moments, remind me to live fully this day, and prompt me to look forward to a season that will soon arrive. Today and tomorrow provide the gifts of memories I will savor from the perspective of whatever time still lies ahead of me.

Dennis Sparks’ “Things Observed” photos and essays encourage readers to see familiar things in new ways. You can also read his blog on school leadership at contact him at dennis.sparks@comcast.net.