Over time, stacks of these fragments string together and hang upon the backdrop from which they were extracted.
But it was a bike, and it was mine. A ticket to personal mobility and a way to get out of my apartment and get out of my head.
Three small children play in a public park sandbox under a cedar tree. The smallest of them is digging a hole with a stick, eschewing the nearby yellow plastic shovel. Two women sit on an adjacent bench. One of them wears a large-brimmed hat.
For thirteen years before I boarded Delta flight DL296 from Shanghai to Narita, the journey lived at the back of my mind. It was always there, calling out to me, thrusting itself into my conscious awareness through any gap it could to color my thoughts with longing.
© 2022 David R Munson, All rights reserved
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