Air is gone so suddenly and your lungs are shriveled and small.

You thought that it would change things, clinging to the railing and refusing to leave the unfeeling but homey steel frame.  You thought they would give up, go out themselves, leave you to be unchanged.  You do not matter to other people.  Your choices are not significant to them.  You wanted to unchoose, and they should let you.  

"Committment," they mumble (or shout).  They wear their white suits unnaturally; yours is stained with strawberry ice cream.  You hid in the freezer room, and they found the meat and ordered you out.  

"The moon really does have no air," you gasp.  The surface shines brighter than the atmosphere.  You tumble: stars burn below you, and the weightless rocks pile around your head.

photo via

Giants spring from rock to rock, grinning sillily when they miss and splash knee deep in the icy water.  Their guffaws resonate off the valley walls like rock slides--and cause them too.  This is Giant Country, and two smallish people would feel rather out of place here.  And they do: they sit, unnoticed on the river bank, a normal-sized girl, hugging her knees, and a braver, smaller boy soaking his feet.  Lucky for them, the giants are too immersed in crossing the river to notice two tiny people.  But they all together cause tidal waves big enough to keep both children uncomfortably cold and wet--and ruin their sandwiches too.

Now the girl and boy are whispering to each other.  The girl's brow is furrowed and the boy munches an apple.   The giants have almost all crossed to the opposite side of the river from the children, when one loses his footing and falls into the river with a large splash.

photo via

"There!" she exclaims.  "That spot of light.  We walk to it!  Come on!"

To me, it's arbitrary, but to her, it's a promise, a motion.  I swing my arms and sing, "Gung ho!  To the light we go!"  Looking back, she rolls her eyes at me, but I know she senses my sincerity.  

"Quick, it's changing, the color's going!" I say.  So what does she do?  She spreads her arms, and flies me into the color.

photo by Cody Cobb.

to emily

Walking, feet wandering in old boots.  A smile curves her mouth, and she bends down to stroke a friendly flower.  Straightening, a fence post catches her fancy, and the shutter snaps.  A dog the color of her shoes follows close at her heels, and the late sunlight wraps them both in delight.

This girl is one who I love, the sun says.  She is one I love also, smiles the small white flower.  She is one I, too, love, sighs the puppy rolling in the grass at her feet.

She is one I have loved for sixteen years.  I watch her from my window, wondering.

photo by drewsiff.

"Forgetting and remembering are two sides of the same coin," the old woman says as the hills blur by.

I half smile and politely stare out the window.  The wind passes over the tops of the hills like waves, and the bus leaves rocking brambles in its wake.

"I remember being here, and I remember how wide-eyed and excited I was.  There were three rainbows on that bus ride.  I remember they were all for me," she continues, glancing at me.  I shift in my seat.

"But for the life of me I can't remember what drew me to this place, or why I haven't come back until now.  Some magic, I think.  I knew I just had to come here to see for myself.  But I forget why, exactly.  Only that I had to come for me, to see something for once before anyone else."

The rain starts up again, bouncing off the windows.  She settles into her seat.  The bus rocks her to sleep.  I stare out the window and forget.

photo by Harry Bloom.

I have been on this path for hours now.  It hasn't changed.  

The people at the lodge, they told me: "Just step down that road a wee bit, and you'll find what you're looking for."

I'm here.  It's not.  I dreamed it clear and craggy, but high and miniature.  These are rocks.  They are not fairy castles.

How do you know?

Because everything in me is wrong and says so!

Everything in you is wrong.  Nothing here is fair.

My breathing slows.  Sitting down, I see my hand shaking.

photo by ffîon.

The tree stands where it is, its spiny appendages creaking with age.  Like an energetic grandchild, a breeze gallops around its feet, climbing up its leafless limbs like a jungle gym.  A branch at the rear cracks.  "Ooh," the tree groans and shifts its weight.

The breeze calms down, and only a few hairy limbs on the tiptop of the tree rustle now.  The tree sighs: "I've been here for so long, my path has grown over.  You're the only one who visits me now, sweet wind."

The tree holds its breath.  Everything is still.  "And even you, dear wind, never stay for long," it mumbles to no one.

But wait!  Specks of black, tiny v's silhouetted against the sky appear in the east!  The tree's heart leaps in its trunk!  But the birds fly over and do not land in its limbs.  The branches sag and twilight creeps in.

Suddenly, a gust of the wind dashes through the field and swirls down the path.  The tree lifts its trunk.  Crunch, crunch.  A boy appears from the west.  The tree barely breathes.  The boy walks towards the tree, humming like the breeze.  Climbing onto the lowest branch, he sits there, singing, until the moonrise hangs low in the purple night.

A raindrop falls from the clear night sky and lands on the boy's hand.  The boy looks up, smiles, pats the tree, and is gone.

photo by sean schmidt.