Gas in the tank and ready for our Sunday Ride. Just down the block, a group of Harley Riders are looking in their rear-view mirrors and wishing they could still moving through the world without actually being in motion. Engines from around the planets rev in empathy.
Lessons from those who never needed a rear view mirror to gain perspective are still obvious – even in the melting-snow-last-gasp-of spring. It’s the rust that’s speaking now for a machine that, at one time, dictated the pace. Beneath, the grass no realizes they’ll be in need of shade after their growth.
Over in Albuquerque, nature embraces fiction – Discovering that flowers are actually hatched – notice the eggshell just off to the side in case any scientists were out there looking to dispute what we’ve found to be real. We’re surrounded everywhere with reminders of how similar we are, yet the devices we watch and we carry try to divide. Impossible.
Out on the block, the humans are yet to recognize that they’re standing on paved over land. They believe – we guess they believe, that their ground is stable. That, at some point not long from this moment, a flower might have hatched from any patch of soil around these parts. Trees push from the concrete knowing that, with time, they will eventually erode what’s holding them.
In awe of the giant butterfly still against the glass, the tiny figures who inhabit the windowsill stop their days and look towards the sky – they will be captured in this moment for more than a moment. On the sidewalks outside, lovers are strolling, wondering if there is an open field to pick flowers for each other from. There is no time for them to notice, but, then again, it’s not their moment. The scenes we inhabit are usually scenes because they’re watched – however, if the theater is empty, and the actors appear, there is a play going on. Always.
Taking the ice, we surrender our lives for a moment and watch gladiators play without the lions. Chants rumble through the audience. A father, looks at his daughter, telling her how he dreamed of the moment when he’d have someone to share his passion with. This is the communication – the moment.
Carrying the news of games taking place in the states, this little guy stands on the mailbox waiting for the owner of the house to come outside and get their letter. There is something magnificent about opening the envelope and reading the words off of a perfectly folded piece of paper. The process. Steps. Flicks of cell phones cannot duplicate.
Of course, there are times, when the unnatural is exactly what you need on a sunday morning.
There is always something over there – outside of your skin, just over on the other end of the pond – happening – we must look – we must want – we must have it….Until, we realize, after all of these travels, that we don’t have it. That we can’t hold it. Still, the water seems like the place to swim for the morning. It will do.
So, we started out with the child content to sit on the motorcycle and pretend, but we end up here – full tank of gas and on the move. The paintings on the window entire you to want more – to make precious items out of natural materials instead of just walking through it all, as a whole, for free. We are doing that now, at this moment. You, sitting there wondering if you should be sitting there, are, at this very moment, traveling the world.
Come on, Baby don’t you wan to go – to that same old place, sweet home, Chicago.
After that long stretch of road, its good to know there are waffles waiting for all of us in a kitchen that has been waiting for the spring light for months. They syrup on the bottom of the plate attempts to think back before it was bottled up and was part of the tree that stretched deep into the sky that we just saw in Chicago, on that long stretch of road.
No need to rush out the door. If you move through the kitchen, yes – keep going, you’ll find it stretches to this porch in Florida where you can sun yourself after that breakfast. It all must be digesting. We hope you’re eating slow. These words will stay in your belly if you don’t chew on each one.
If you’d rather not be in the sun, in the living room, over in Ontario, there’s a tennis match on – so feel free to sit down and relax. Or, if you really understand how to move, you can climb through and sit in the front row.
Two months ago, it was pictures of the revolution. Now, there is time to sit and – no, no – I have to step out here and realize the surreal moment that Frazier is being watching in Cairo. Indeed, when we get to that final door of the office of the woman that controls it all, the phrase ‘ It’s all about the distribution” rings true.
It is the very fact that we don’t match that draws us in.
And so, we continue to search for that uniqueness inside the abnormalities that look back from morning reflections. It’s trying to be so perfect – so immaculate, that is the mistake. We can create our reflections not in sameness, but in the obvious distortion that exists inside us. Better known as truth.
The spoon is about to get a work-out. After waiting in lines and drinking half her juice, this queen of Sunday Morning is about to have her feast. She knows though that the waffles have to travel from Louisville, so she must be patient and realize that delivery time of food is nothing compared to rust on vehicles that we’ve been witnessing throughout.
The white tiger in the corner wishes, for this very moment, that he could be real in this go around in life, so that he too could enjoy that perfect moment of sunshine on the bed. How many times have you passed it up this year? Please, now you understand that whatever you have in the bank cannot replicate any of this.
So there are moments when it’s put in front of you. Where are you to find direction. Keeping on the pavement, as we talked about in Brooklyn, is not going to give you clarity. Seek what you believe to be – Don’t look with your eyes. Close them, now, wherever you are. Imagine your next step before you take it. Where would you like to escape to?
Now, look – you’re away from the office. You exist inside the middle of the last flower on the branch – the cows in the distance are so far away it would take weeks to reach them. Thing is, here, you have that time to walk at your pace and discover what exists between the spaces of the grass on the way. It’s the journey.
Of course, along the journey, you’re going to need to get past destruction. It’s part of it. Life, even when we believe in the power of fiction, still spill out reality. It’s what you make of it and how you act in the moments of heat that determine your final painting.
And when you sit back to capture the adventures, you can determine what is the sun and what is the moon. You’re allowed to interpret – it’s that lens that creates the needs for museums. Somewhere, close by, a young girl is sitting on a rooftop painting what she sees from the journey we’ve taken. Can you understand her painting?
How remarkable the elements she has captured. Come, gather around her talent, you’ll want to be a witness to it when young. As she ages, she’ll gain fame and bloom from the confines of our story. That is birth – we are giving birth always – but here, she has shown us there is no need for mirrors, only canvases and paint.
Inspired by the new definition of reflection, we now have our music. We can sit now and enjoy the rest of the week – for we have lives the journey, created the art, and are embraced with music from the lungs of the ones who truly understand the world. It was once us – It will alway be us.