I remember the forest’s edge where we used to linger on midsummer days as we watched the sun’s light yield slowly to the beckoning night – a beautiful combination of yellow hues, jaded skies, and fiery reflections burning in her eyes and lighting mine in turn. We tried desperately to hold on to what was never meant to stay, whispering slowly as lovers often do in hopes that their love will echo on for eternity – an eternity that only they can hear.
I remember the tree and the bench underneath where we used to sit, just laughing for hours. I would watch her delicate smile form carefully as her hair cascaded around her face, revealing beauty with every movement. And though our laughter would fade with the sun, we could still hear it in each others eyes.
I remember when I lost her, when they took her from me and said that our time at the forest’s edge was at an end. She would look at me with those eyes and say simply, “Remember.” Those were her last words to me, and they will echo on for eternity as I return to the forest’s edge to sit by our bench under the tree… to see her smile once again, hear her laughter fill the air, and watch the sunset in her eyes. And I remember. I remember and I smile back in hopes that I will see her once again.
Notice the reflections of the clouds in the water… it was a perfect night.
I’m not sure why this boat is a Trucker’s Ride, but it does offer truckers (and photographers) a great view of the Boston skyline.
Beautiful Boston from the misty grass.
That streak is actually an airplane passing 100 feet overhead in its final approach to Boston’s Logan Airport. This is a single shot, not HDR.
Sound, rhythm, music
Painted and played
To the beat of the sun
Reflecting off of the sea
World fades to black
Time stops
For every note
Is an eternity
Nothing matters
Guitar in hand
Shades tightly poised
Strumming for all, yet heard by one
Sound, rhythm, music
Painted and played
To the beat of the heart
Reflecting off of the soul.
Memories have their way of trickling into our dreams when we least expect them, slowly transforming our interpretation of reality. The bad ones sometimes serve as warnings of the past about to manifest in the present, while at other times they serve only to torment our every thought with no tangible purpose whatsoever. But the memories we cherish most are as much in our hearts as they are in our minds, for without the heart a memory is nothing more than a remembrance of what was with no impact on what is. The heart is what allows us to transcend the fleeting moments of life and carefully sew the frayed threads together into the very fabric of who we are. A fabric which, although far from perfect upon close inspection, is the only thing we have that makes us all unique… the only thing that makes us all human.
This fabric is ever changing and ever lasting, continuously torn, divided, and sewn back together by the hard-won lessons of life’s less pleasurable, but oh so necessary experiences. A conglomerate of dos and don’ts, should haves and could haves. Those who spend their lives dwelling on these things will become prisoners of their own shortcomings, brooding incessantly about the human condition. But those who give these imperfections no more power than they deserve, and use them only to improve their craft, will create a life whose potential for greatness is limited only by the number of threads left in their time on this earth. And even when they are gone, their souls will be sewn into the fabric of generations to come, repeating the cycle that is and always will be, life.
The wind howls through time
Past my face and into the dusk
Collapsing the light onto itself
In a vortex of blissful surrender.
Breath by breath
I breathe the stillness of the moment
Breath by breath
I breathe the fury of the wind.
The argument is ended sharply
By the pulsating sound of steel
Against steel, reverberating
Into the fading light.
I close my eyes in anticipation
Waiting for the night to come
And take one last breath
Before the day is done.