On The First Day Of Autumn.

I wish the world would just pause for one day. I'll be the only one still walking around. Maybe one other person if they somehow can convince me through their actions and speech that they're fit for good conversation and fellowship. I'll start at my computer but soon I depart on a journey. Let's say this person is not with me yet.

So, I go down my street. I see a man frozen in place just getting out of his car. He doesn't seem right to be my companion on my journey, so I hop into my car. As I get onto the nearby highway, I weave in and out of traffic, also frozen in place. I see a girl that I know a little bit, but I recall that her language is occasionally foul. I keep on going.

It's really a nice day. The clouds are frozen in place, but not in the way of the frozen sun which still warms my car on this cool autumn day. The highway comes along to a bustling city, frozen in its tracks. I get out of my car and start walking down a street lined with shops until one catches my attention. Inside of it is the most beautiful paintings on extremely dingy walls. It might be an art gallery I suppose. A sign is posted up that says: 'State-wide art contest winners'.I walk along this art gallery inspecting each picture as I glide past frozen people, but then an idea hits me. Instead of just studying the paintings, I look at the peoples faces around them.

One lady, maybe in her early thirties, is standing in front of a painting, wrinkles etched on her face as if she was twice her calendar age, but her face holds a slight smile. I turn and look at the painting she sees. It is of another woman, about the same age, holding an infant child who seems to be bubbly and healthy. Although the picture lady is about the same age as the real lady, not a bit of worry can be seen etched into the picture woman's face.  The worry lines and no child... the healthy skin with a healthy child... is there some connection? Might this hold the reason why the real woman seems so sad while she smiles ever so lightly?

I leave her there and continue on. I pass a frozen man staring at a picture of a family having a picnic on a bright day such as today. I cannot stand there much longer because the tear frozen on his cheek seems too complicated for me to understand. In this society, men usually do not cry, and ESPECIALLY not in public.

A child stands next to a mother holding hands. The woman is at eye level with her child pointing at the details of the picture. I glance up from them and see a familiar face. A close friend, whose conversation and presence is always a pleasurable experience, stands there, arms folded, with a very thoughtful look upon his face.

I can only wonder what he thinks, so I place myself next to him such that I can see what he is seeing. By first glance I just notice it's a portrait because my eyes immediately dart to the signature of the artist. "Wait." It sounds a bit awkward talking aloud to myself and I realize how silent everything is. not deadly silent, but I only hear noises as I choose to. "This painting... this young man.. he's the artist."

At this point I get very curious as to which piece of his artwork had won a place in the art gallery. I'm confused, amazed, shocked... The painting is titled 'A walk through the park' and shows a girl walking away down a bright leafy path with sunshine around, in a just-past-summer dress, her head turned around such that one can see the face. I look closer so as not to deceive myself, but it's still seems as if I am looking into a mirror. The details are so perfect it seems as if hours had been spent working on this project.

Memories flood back into my head. Last autumn we had passed by each other in a park and shared a few laughs. I hadn't seen him for the past year and this made me want to know even more how he was doing. What about that moment had stuck so well for him? He must have painted it straight from memory.

It's worth a shot I'm thinking. So I look into his eyes to see if I can read his thoughts. No, even here that does not work, but something in me decides that there is only one way to pull that person out of the frozen state and into my journey. I'm running out the door, across the street, and into a restaurant where I grab a pitcher of ice cold water. I trip over a foot and spill everything. Quickly I am up again and grab a new pitcher. Carefully, I bring it back, managing to avoid outstretched arms and legs. Back in the gallery I splash it over his head. He seems to wake with a start, his body starting to move as the droplets bead up and drip out of his almost-blond hair.

Ugh. Why do I never think ahead of my actions? Now we're standing here staring into each other's eyes both shocked and slightly embarrassed.......

TO BE CONTINUED??