FIREFLY COLLECTION (EXHIBIT 1)

Somewhere in the murky waters of your mind exists memories, exceptional and unspoiled. Tiny crystals sparkling like April raindrops through the darkened sewerage of pain and life forgotten. Free from malice, envy, greed, grief, pain, guilt....durable and simply perfect. Me? I remember December. I remember the calloused touch of my mother's roasted skin on my shivering ankles as she battled to remove my winter-drenched shoes. I remember the dank smell of my grimy-gray woolen socks inhaled inside the belly of my billowy white boot lining. I remember the dirty snow, packed and kneaded into perfectly round formations of ice, clinging to the bottom of my snow pants like the prickly head of a burdock root and melting down between my naked, prune kissed toes. I remember the sweet flavor of sweat and snotty goo oozing from my nose and settling on the edge of my swollen tongue that rested atop my wind chapped lips.
December. One of the billions of moments trapped in my subconscious like a firefly in a collection jar. The memory grows old, as I grow old, and still a certain feeling of renewed childishness curdles in my tummy at the faintest waft of a winter breeze.
A friend among enemies, these moments invite themselves into to my consciousness unexpectedly, provoking an expression so honest I blush at the realization of my exposure and openness. I see similar expressions creep upon the faces of strangers; fellow transit riders gripping the metal posts of an overcrowded streetcar, weaving and staring seemingly vacantly into the distance. Suddenly a smile. In this moment of unencumbered happiness I would love to breath the air that occupies the space between this strangers lips, I would lift like a balloon!

To be continued.....