The elevated streetlights flicker and sway high above the treetops, pushing back the envelope of darkness on this unusually warm fall night–my only companions on this night of nights. A car engine fades into the distance, swaddled by the sounds of the machines that hum nearby, as I sit here and wonder about what is to come during my next 30 years of life.

The first 30 have served me well, the peaks and troughs coming and going as often as the tides. Time has passed, and the ground has settled a bit beneath me, giving me purchase and the ability to dwell on the days of future past. The days seem to roll by much more quickly now as we get older. Our busy lives taking full reign, shoving aside the lazy loafing of our teenage years, eating up every second of every day, and we wonder where the time goes.

Life has been fairly good to me. It has behaved rather well, and has not given me too much grief, and for that I’m glad. But because of such good behavior, the outlandish antics and historical histrionics of my life have waned, and my writing has suffered in its stead. Without the high highs, and the low lows to draw on my literary powers, the constant emotional turmoil has been replaced by relative complacent contentment.

But with that realization, I am no longer content to stand here idly, watching the river of time rushing on by. It frustrates me to have become so comfortable that I have almost forgotten who I am.

So it seems fitting that I start my writing anew, on this day of days, this night of nights.

My very own birthday.

Standing in the quad, he looked around with eyes that silently remembered the years that had passed. Hidden deep within those eyes were more years of experience than his face belied. The school was similar, but yet different than he had remembered. But that would have been obvious since it had been quite some time since he stepped foot into a place where he spent a significant portion of his life.

He had traversed these halls as a student, an athlete and as a coach. There were good times and then there were bad times. What made those years a memorable part of him were all the bits and pieces in between. The sports, the games, the camaraderie and the friendships that helped influence his thoughts and actions. With a slight gust of wind, these memories came drifting forward in time, engulfing him in visual canvas pieces of his past.

In recalling these memories and people of years past, he remembered an acquaintance. A friend of sorts. A guy that had no tangible connection to him in any way. Someone completely and utterly different from the people he normally associated with in school. But for some reason, they had a friendship, even though they seem to be on the opposite sides of the spectrum. It wasn’t a very visible friendship, filled with name calling, taunting and the typical high school belittling of others.

It was an interesting friendship to say the least. It started out based on assumptions each had for the other, and it grew over time into something tolerable and of mutual respect. It wasn’t a close friendship, rife with competition, taunting and often times openly expressed dislike for each other. It was like a strategic war game that was fought on the battlefield of the school grounds. How their unsteady friendship survived, he really didn’t know, but he’d leave that kind of analysis to the psychologists.

He wasn’t even sure they could even call it a friendship.

The respect and tolerance that he had learned from this acquaintance-like friend had changed him, but he wouldn’t come to that understanding until he had passed into academic history. The things that happened during those carefree days of adolescent academia were forever embedded into his personality. He had actually become a better person without realizing it. Some of those changes were a direct result of his interactions between this particular friend and himself.

They had grown up and gone their separate ways. Thinking about it now, those two years of a cautious and largely veiled friendship were special to him. It was something different than what he was used to. It was something that was taken for granted. Now that they had moved on, sometimes he wished that it was one of those friendships that had held strong.

Crossing the parking lot, he headed toward the edge of the campus where he was parked. Opening the door and settling himself into the car, a thought crossed his mind. “Sometimes, you don’t even realize that you’ve even learned anything from the people that have passed through your life, until too much time has passed to thank them.”

He silently thanked his now absent friend for the opportunity to get to know him and drove away.

Did I tell you about the storm that rolled in last night? It was the clash of thunder and rain; a war that tore apart the intricate silk tapestry of that watercolor canvas. Those winds whipped, whisked, and whirled like whips unfurled. They cracked with anger at the ruins of our ethereal painting. Dreary was that war, sliding in on two feet and out on all four. With shoulders slumped and head bowed low, my defeated soul trudged slowly like a phantom caught in the snow.

It’s been months now as I needled away at the shreds of my sanity. I desperately stitched together the rips, unaware that those tears were filled with your helpless tears. No matter what I tried, they kept growing wider and wider, and I didn’t quite understand why. I beat my chest and bellowed into the rain, looking for what had become of us, but only finding pain. I asked you then as I ask you now; did you hear those clouds’ plaintive cries?

I finally stopped trying to understand what was happening and just let things be. Maybe I should have seen this coming, this thing between you and me. Time passed between us, and the temporal rifts set us adrift. This sadness lingers in my chest, and of all people, you know this best. I can’t quite explain it, and I still don’t understand why. But I simply get it now, after all this time.

Was something there between us, something divine? But now I’m wondering if it was just the wrong moment, just the wrong time? Was it a mirage, or merely a dream? Do I awake from this storm with all this lightning and rain, to find out that this it, nothing else can be seen? Have I woken up and it’s all that it seems?

He walked the halls in his comfortable bubble of silence. A light summer breeze ruffled his hair and followed every his step as his way wound through the sun sheltered halls. With each step, his shoulder bag slowly swung with its own particular rhythm. The only sounds the permeated the air were the light clicking footfalls of his shoes and the slight ruffling of his shirt as it rubbed against itself.

It had been over a half dozen years since he had been back to these halls of learning. The halls reminded him of a period of time when he would learn the most about life and the world that existed outside of academia. The successes and failures that he experienced were part of the unspoken rules that governed the real world. Those kinds of realizations just didn’t occur to him at the time, but he remembered their lessons very well.

Impulsive decisions and inexperience were what guided him through those turbulent years. Trial and error were his trademarks during those times of struggle and tribulation. He might not have grown up in the ghetto, but adversity comes in many forms and he was glad to have survived. Some people weren’t so lucky. Many of those decisions were tempered with logic and intelligence, but he was young and mistakes were expected. With the passing of each event or incident, he learned a little bit more and corrected himself. Young were his years, but he never used that excuse for the things he had experienced–both tragic and joyful alike. Now with the passage of time, they had left their palpable mark upon his darkened soul.

He still had a youthful look, but there was much wisdom and maturity set deep into his eyes and stance. Over time, that youthfulness and inexperience transformed into something greater. It had turned him into an insightful and collected adult that crossed the school campus alone that day. Looking around with eyes that weren’t quite old, but nor were they young any longer, he noticed how much things had changed. Lots of changes happened in the years that had come and gone. He could barely recognize the scenery that lay before him.

Now there were new buildings, a new administrative staff and like always, a new student body that occupied the halls in which he once stood. As the years swiftly flew by, there were times that he could almost forget what had happened all those years ago but a part of him that never wanted to forget. He never wanted to forget some of those wonderful days, or the horrible days that followed.

Bending down near a patch of dead, dry grass, he placed a freshly cut purple orchid at the spot where that tragic incident happened so long ago. Standing up, he bowed his head for a long moment of silence, recalling those days with vivid clarity. Taking one last look at the flower laying at his feet, he turned around and walked away. The wind had picked up, whipping through his hair, telling him to look back but he didn’t. What had transpired was something that most people would have tried to forget. He never did.

He still felt responsible for the ill-fated events that lead up to that unfortunate day, although some had said that there was nothing he could do. Those words that tried to absolved him of guilt were a small measure of comfort compared to the hollow hole in his heart that he had been carrying ever since. His past was his past and he would never forget it, or those who had walked with him during those days. But to dwell on it would invite unwanted self-destruction. It was simply not his way.

He didn’t look back as he strode into the future, never forgetting the ones that came before him, or the lessons he learned from them as well. Getting into the car, he took one last look at those cream colored walls that were so much a part of his adolescence and drove away.

We zipped along on a current of heated actions and reactions. The moments came swiftly, turning and tumbling, making sure that we were alive, as intimacy lit our souls on fire. Reckless and unsure of which path to take, we simply rushed along whatever route we were on when the rope snapped. Frustration overtook calm, and panic planted its roots of self-destruction. Strength remained with patience, but was quickly waning.

Lunging for your outstretched hand, I missed, faintly grazing those delicate fingers, as you continued to drift away from me. You plummeted deeper and deeper into that thick vapor, with me trailing right behind, narrowly out of reach. The mists swirled around us, seeming to wash by with increasing speed. My eyes darted around, trying to find a foothold, a handhold, some sort of perch somewhere, anywhere, to slow us down.

I cried out your name, but heard no response. You turned and gazed at me, eyes rapt with attention, your mouth trying to form words that one always understood, but none came. Pursing your lips, you again tried to speak words that died before they were ever given birth. The look in your eyes said it all though–something was amiss. Deep down you knew something was wrong and I knew it too. There was no way to really express what you were thinking, except for the faint tinge of sadness edging your eyes.

Somewhere along this route, we had gone too far, had crossed the line, and there seemed to be no way of going back. In the silence that enveloped us, your muted tones told me that much had changed. Resignation wormed its way into your once serene face, head shaking as if in a soundless scream. Plunging any deeper into that hopeless gloom, the murkiest of murks, and all would be lost; you would be lost to me.

Diving with fearless recklessness, I grunted and stretched with every last sinew of my being, reaching out for your hand to somehow hang onto the last few tendrils that still bound us to each other. No matter what it took, and no matter how far we fell, I would continue to strive, and we would survive.

Goonies never say die.

Rain. tak tak tak… I used to listen to the raindrops falling from the sky, late at night, while lying in my bed alone. The individual drops would tap against my windows, etching out their short-lived existence in a beautiful brilliance only nature could muster. in between the silent drone of languid dreaming and wakefulness, I would catch a glimpse of their paths as they slid through trails of reason and fantasy.

So comfortable they were, knowing that their lives were meant for something greater. They were assuredly valued beyond measure, with fairly simple choices that lay before them–at least that’s what we’d like to think. But there is always that stubborn one. The one which continues its search for the meaning behind its existence, zigging and zagging across the pane, determined to create its own footprints in an already chaotic land.

Lying in my bed alone, frozen by the thought that with so many possibilities, it might never find what it was looking for, even if it knew where to start. Either that, or it would simply splash out–dying and melding back into the pool, never knowing what its true purpose was.

tak tak tak…I try not to listen anymore.

Standing upright, arms wide in mid-flight
Who do I run from in rushing red waves of light
Fleeing blindly along the path that follows
The river of uncertainty, hope and tomorrow

There are mysteries in life accepted as truth
No other such clues available as proof
From simple seedlings relationships sprout
Giving birth to bartenders, experience and doubt

Swiftly we hurry from beginning to end
Not really watching where one might land
Upon a heart our swiftness might tread
Does the resonance feel good when it all goes dead?

Sitting there waiting for an event untold
A change in the wind peppers me with cold
Constantly reminding about those hidden pages
Secreted away, the wisdom of all ages

Myriad of questions flying to and fro
Are there any answers, please don’t say no
All out of time and all out of breath
Bringing closure to the one that’s left

Under a blanket of crystalline shards
Reflective in quality, somewhat like stars
Muted cries to the dark heavens above
For a soul seldom speaks to no one but love

These are the stairways
Built over time
They wind around in circles
The ends hard to find

Made of wood and stone
The walls cold and bare
Not sure what can be seen
Although you sit and stare

Hiding many things
Secrets entombed, enshrined
Covered in shadowy darkness
The corridors of my mind

How do you make the burning pain go away

As it drags on day after day

How do you begin to cope and dry the hurt you feel inside

As the world slowly spins and passes you by

How do you make the aching stop

When your heart seems to be in total shock

How do you make the gnawing pain subside

When you’re all torn up inside

Why do these feelings show

Like the pure simple brightness of fallen snow

It had been years. Every single summer for the past half-dozen years, he had been coming to this place. This tranquil place, set deep into the forested foothills of the Sierra Nevada. The place was a pond, not big enough to be called a lake, but it held still water that was continually fed by the tributaries branching off of the Yuba River nearby.

The area was a peaceful spot, still untouched by the age of technology and steel. Fields of wild grass and green pastures still covered the landscape everywhere you looked. The trees that towered overhead, had grown tall without any additional help from the world of man. Here, nature still remained vibrant and strong.

It was early morning. The sun had just peeked above the hills, casting a warm, orange glow over the body of water he now faced. Clouds of early morning steam rose from the calm still waters, evaporating like ghosts chased away by the morning sunlight. The fish and frogs had already taken their leave, scrambling deeper into the darker areas that surrounded the pond.

He stood there with the sun upon his bare back, gazing at the outline that his shadow formed on the surface of the pond. Stretching his arms up into the sky, he took a deep cleansing breath and dove into the calm, cool waters below. As soon as his whole body had submerged, he opened up his eyes to see a small fish hurriedly flash away into the deeper, murkier depths of the pond. Looking around, he noticed the water’s slightly green hue caused by the algae that hung there, suspended in the water.

Cupping his hands, he gave a long, strong pull as he stayed under the surface and let the momentum carry him farther from the small pier he had dove from. The water parted before his streamlined form, barely causing a ripple on the surface. He was totally content in his solitude for the time being, although his oxygen supply would run out soon enough.

Another long pull, and the accompanying kick from his legs propelled him further from shore and closer to the center of the pond. He wondered how long he could last, holding his breath and depriving himself of air. As a child, he was able to hold his breath for over 3 minutes. By now he was able to surpass the 4 minute mark, but that was with little exertion. He wondered how he would do now.

Bending at the waist, he dove deeper still. Flipping onto his back he marveled at the sunlight filtering through the water, like a cascade of mirror pieces falling from above. He recall the long, lazy days where he’d hide underwater and sneak up upon his unsuspecting friends that had come along on these trips. Those were the days of unbridled joy and carefree happiness. When life was slow and much easier to understand.

He missed those days, lounging in the sun. Days where the only thing they had to think about was what they were going to eat for lunch and dinner. All the time in between was spent frolicking in the outdoors and simply enjoying what life had to offer.

Feeling a slight tightness in his chest, he knew time had begun to run out. Things weren’t so simple anymore. Turning toward the surface, he kicked once and floated slowly toward the light. His face broke the surface and he slowly pulled for the other side.

Swimming slowly along, he wondered if he would ever be able to hold his breath that long ever again.