A man rode his bicycle one time he was headed for work he had but one thing on his mind fortune. fame. glory. he wanted to become rich but in his rush to become great he didnt take a moment and wait as he rode daily through the fog he never truly stopped and saw he didnt take time to stop and notice what was in the fog just beyond his focus. everyday on his way to fame he never looked back on the way he came to see what happened behind the door or to see the girl who layed on the floor bruised and broken she lay in pain waiting and waiting for somebody to notice. and yet the man lost in the fog of his mind never once saw the great crime that he passed everyday on his way to work.

After Reese was kicked out of the town for speaking out about it’s corruption. He decided to leave with nothing but his two wheels that could take him anywhere. He left when the moon traded places with the sun and petaled all throughout the night. Reese was determined to stumble across a community of genuine people, surrounded by love and open honesty. He wanted something new to look at, something abstract and beautiful. As dawn made its way back around, Reese was in awe of the beautiful portrait illustrated across the horizon. The slight misty fog surrounding his legs and the fading of the night sky blending with the sun’s peak. As he rode by admiring the sky’s beauty, he noticed a group of people building some type of structure. Reese’s face grew a wide smile when seeing that group of people working together as one. It deeply resonated with his core, that was all Reese dreamed of having.

There were clattering voices just beyond the horizon. Soul searchers. Seeking Holy ground. Desperate for a touch of healing. I inhaled the cool sweet air of the morning dew kissing my face. It was as if I were stepping into a new realm.

Are we in danger .. Are we safe .

Spontaneous…. Action … Thinking ..

We have control.

Unfortunate … Accidents.. Throughout . Fortunate .. Plans …

Thinking you had it right Now fright

Silly thinking The winking

Could it mean something happy Or lead to a situation, snappy

Knowbody knows Everyone on there toes

Finding peace Hoping no negative release

In a world so unknown You’re grown

“Hey Ma, this looks like a really cool place! Did grandma take this picture?” Timmy asks

“What’s that honey?” she lobs back. He doesn’t respond. “Is that grandpa on the bike?”

Sarah, a/k/a Mom, is in the kitchen wrapping dishes and silverware in newspaper. There are several boxes on the kitchen counter and the spots where appliances would go lay empty revealing a different shade of color than the rest of the room

Timmy is sitting on an oversized recliner that was clearly a throne to someone important in the house.

Positioned directly by its side, a fixed, conservative patterned approach to living room sitting.
Theres a basket with two long knitting needles surrounded by a few different colored balls of yarn perched right by this chair

“What’s that you said honey? Sarah says entering the room.

She walks over to Timmy and looks over his shoulder.

“This picture is so cool.” he says excitedly. “Who took it Mom?” he asks.

When Sarah looks down, she lets out an innocently soft

“Oh my!” as tears well up in her eyes. One of them makes its way down her rounded cheek falling off and landing next to the photograph.

Starteled, Timmy sadly looks up at his mother.

“Mom, what’s the matter?” he asks. “Why are you crying?” he asks

“Oh, its not what you think. Yes, I’m crying but these tears aren’t just sad Timmy. I think grama mixed em with the happy ones. The ones that remind us how much they loved us. All the memories we made together”

“Even love makes you cry? That sucks!” says Timmy “Sometimes honey”, she says “Memories make you cry?”, he prods “Well, yeah, they can do it too.” She says wi “I don’t get it” he says with a puzzled look on his face

Sarah sits down in her mothers chair, easing herself down slowly making sure to feel the fabric as her hands glide over the arms. She smiles as the chair seems to have a soothing nature for her. She inhales deeply through her nose looking for that particular scent her mother used to wear.

When she hits the right spot, her eyes close behind a sweet barely perceptible smile. She knows that the day will come when she wont find it so she breathes it in.

“I really wish I would have known them” “Me too honeyt, but you were still in my belly when they passed. Your Dad and I got a late start. Oh boy they would have loved to meet you. Your just like your grandfather”

“Is the picture one of those memories for you?” he says searching for anything. “What does it mean?” “Did grandma or grandpa take it?”

Sarah starts to tear up again as she answers her son

“Yeah. Pop took the photo. He always loved to do things for gram so when she said it looked amazing, he snuck off to buy an instant camera so he could take a picture and show her later. He was a hopeless romantic”

“I remember when I first saw it. It was probably, what you said, just really cool to everyone else but for me, it just grabbed me. So I painted over a weekend and what your looking at is a picture of that painting.”

Timmy hesitates briefly then explodes in excitement.

“You painted it! Wow!. Where is it? Where’s the place? Is it at the end of the street or behind billy’s house? “No, its not there.” she says with a chuckle “Where is it then?”. Timmy suddenly takes on a confused look and tone. “Wait just a minute Mom!”. “If you took a picture, after you painted it; then where is the painting?”

“Well, we can’t get anything past you, can we?” she asks “No sir ree” he says proudly

“Well, its with them. We all figured it was so special that they should have it; forever. “ “So we had a special box made and we placed it between them when we buried them. This way the special moment would always be with them” she says through swollen eyes.

“I don’t get it.” he says

Sarah takes a moment to dab her eyes then drifts off staring at nothing.

“Mom?” he says for attention

Sarah breaks from the stare, cracks a slight grin.

“ Well let me just explain it you curious little man you.” she says while tickling his belly.

“When two people are really close, when they spend that much time together, what does that tell you?” “Ummm, they love. Each. Other? Like a lot.” he says stumbling through the response.

“Yes. You got it!” she says proudly

“They had a special unbreakable bond honey. You can say from the moment they met, they were best friends and all they wanted to do was be with each other. To spend every minute of every day together. Doing something. Anything. As long as it was with each other”

“Oh.” Timmy says “Like me and my best friend Todd Sullivan?” he innocently blurts out

Sarah burst into laughter.

“Not quite dear. You’ll see some day. When you find that special person.”

She reaches out and cradles his face in her hands.

“Who could resist this sooo cute face.”

“Its a bond so strong that they happily gave themselves to each other for all of their lives. Of course they had friends, but they had each other and that was the most important thing for both of them.”

“That young man, is the gift they left fort us. How to live and how to love another, and hopefully we might get to do the same thing.” she says proudly.

“That’s kinda, sorta sweet Mom. They sound like really nice people and I know I wont get to meet them but can you tell me more; about them.”

“Let’s start with, WHERE was it take? The picture? what time of day…”. Timmy is besides himself

Sarah leans back in her mothers chair, puts her hands on her legs

“Ok, then. Grandma loved the early morning.”

“Especially the early morning mist…..”

I know I am here. I will not wonder why I have come. Something has pushed me into a realm I have never ever felt.

It was very early in the morning, the sky painted with hues of orange and scattered clouds predicting a clear sunrise. A cool breeze chilled my face as I followed my regular cycling routine. Yet, there was something different in the air today. Suddenly, as I turned right onto the desert road of Dunes, far from the city’s clamor, I became enveloped in a very dense fog. Visibility dwindled to mere feet ahead, obscuring my path.

About a quarter of a mile to the side, an odd structure caught my eye—a door, standing inexplicably without a building to support it. Curiosity piqued, I stopped and parked my bicycle behind an old bush nearby. As I approached, the scene became clearer: two open doors, yet all I could see through them was an even thicker veil of fog.

“Well, it can’t hurt to have a peek,” I thought, stepping through the doors, unaware that it would be the last time I saw my bicycle—or the world I knew.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I feel like I’ve always been here and yet I feel like I just got here. I can’t see too far past the fog and the further I try to stray from here the thicker it gets. No matter how much I focus and pay attention I always get turned around and end up back here where I started. I’ve stopped trying. Now I observe. Hoping something or someone will be able to tell me where I am and how I leave. Only my biggest problem is that no one seems to notice I’m here. I see and hear all of them but no one sees or hears me no matter how loud I shout. Their lives go on uninterrupted. Men, women, children, people of all sizes and cultures. They all casually walk or run or bike or even drive by me as if they’re just passing through. Even the animals and the birds don’t seem to notice I’m always here observing them. I wonder if they even see each other. Are we all just lost, wandering, unaware of where we are or where we are going?

I lay far away back as fog covers my Eyes I see, the bright beautiful Orange cream dreamsicle Sunset And through the fog,distance can’t tell if it’s people or Small ants Vivid colorful portrait lies ahead of me The man on his bicycle,enjoying the weather I see

Mornings on the cape were like something out of an escapist fantasy. At dawn, we ruled the beach like the kings we aspired to be but would pretend we knew nothing about. The same kids who couldn’t consistently make it to first period algebra on time a month ago, were now awake before the sun, afraid to waste even one sweet moment of summer because we all knew it would too soon come to an end.

I found Jared riding under The Wall. It wasn’t really a wall, but a giant sculpture the city had allowed the graffiti to consume in the vain hope that it would remain consolidated there. It was two stories tall —an artistic monolith— but somehow still looked like it could be blown over by a stiff breeze. And this morning, it was surrounded by a fog so thick you couldn’t see him more than two feet in front of your face.

Which was precisely why Jared was riding there. And why I knew exactly where to find him. The boy loved a challenge.