We all have a fondness for our own names. It is often said that names have great power but often we forget where it comes from. Calling one’s name beckons forth its history, bleak or gay as it may be to the hearer. While you still live, listener, that history also lives. It grows, expands, breaths with you. But unlike you, a name can live on, the roots of memory’s path lay deeply entrenched in the thoughts of those who knew you.

For many, these roots lay dormant, only brought to the surface by fond recollections. It is easy to think such a garden of the past a benign structure. But there are those who till up time and harvest its mementos. 

Do not leave your gardens unattended, dear listener. You might not be the only one seeking to harvest your past.