Two men. One bench. A snooze at last. Nearly only noon and a yawn awaited. One led the day as a simple man. A bibliophile. A bookworm. A lover of his favorite gray suit. A sentimental man. A philosophy professor at Oxford. Passionate. Full of wisdom and loneliness. His entire evenings spent reading, writing, learning in solitude till the crack of dawn. A widower, yet the companion of sweet Wishbone, a Jack Russell Terrier. The other led the day without having even gone home nor making it to bed from the night before. A sweet lost young man. A young man in search of purpose and meaning.

Table for two please. Outside. The night hovers. September skies. City lights pollute the sea of stars. Sunday may perhaps be the best night possible to dine out. Nearly a restaurant all to ourselves. Two long benches lay alongside a table meant for a group of 10 - yet for two. Two hips touched. Two shoulders touched. Two souls touched. Or so one thought. Los Angeles alfresco. Empty streets featuring the frantic guest afar yet close. Feelings of unease. Past fears seep in. A queen scared. Lack of comfort. Lack of empathy. Drama queen? More like a queen with a weak king.

Friday morning. Used sheets. The smell of lust. The smell of sweat. The smell of sweet innocent romance. His touch on her smooth skin. Her body. Fingers intertwining endlessly. Gentle kisses. Tongues exchange. Desire for caress. Rolling out of bed seemed impossible.

Within the fleeting years of childhood's embrace, there lies a precious moment. A tiny window. A dedicated amount of time where a parent's hip becomes a sanctuary, cradling their little one with effortless grace. One year. Two years. Three years. She grew strong and mighty. For in her eyes, he found the universe, a boundless expanse of wonder and delight. Illuminating the darkness and the cruel realities of this world with the magic of her innocence.

For they entered into the season of fall. The sun, a mellow, golden hue, cast an embrace so crisp, so clear. In autumn's hues, a timeless muse. The trees ablaze in fiery dance. A perfect day for a family affair. An annual family photo awaited. A passed down tradition. Just in time for the end of the year mailings.

What did it feel like? Maybe that’s what it took? Was it a room? Don’t limit yourself my love. Change the perspectives and look beyond. Moving from one square to another, it was the game of life. A portal of energy. One pathway to the next. Spontaneous moves. Strategic moves. Missed moves. It is still a move. The possibilities were endless. A move into peace and quiet with only but the superior senses of sight and sound with the spectrum gleaming in. Nature can do wonders. Tune in. Do you see it? Do you hear it? Do you feel it? So much to take in. Full of abundance. Oh what a privilege. What a joy. Days, weeks, a month in solitude for the fire began to grow. Slowly igniting. Coming into its own. Creeping into the spectrum of the universe. The unknown. The mysteriousness and limitless of this so called world. It was all a matter of balance. A move or no move. Simplicity in the unknown of the new. A recharge of the human battery. Growing and growing the flame that makes one spark, ignite, and radiate. A fucking queen she was. For it was all a light of solitude.

Hats off. Bottles pouring. One foot in the groove. A constant motion. A culture of change. A great leap of evolution and independence. The roaring twenties. The jazz age. But as the French called it, Les Années Folles ~ “The Crazy Years”. A memoir to the 1920’s. A roll of a one, nine, two, and a tie at the eight. 1928, sitting at Les Deux Magots, Hemingway heavily drinking with his immense direct charm and whit. A literature gift by the gods. The defining years of society. A leisure game of tennis & chess followed by a smoke & a martini. Sitting secretly inside a speak easy, ideas and collaborations flourished. Passion running through the veins. Love in the air. Prohibition fostering ideas. Jazz blossoming the ears and souls - allowing women an outlet to express themselves. A decade of emphasizing the era's social, artistic and cultural ambition. A race towards an industrial revolution in the iconic and popular black Ford Model T.

Transporting people from place to place. Transporting change. A step forward in history. A slower pace of time. The pace of a horse. The pace of love letters. The pace of communication. The pace of change. The clock never changed, as time is a constant. For humans in this moveable feast are the only change.

Don’t you get it? These were the years. A decade of profound social growth. For in order to understand the present, you must understand the past. For it is history that we have to thank for the present and future. For we must raise our glasses to the times of A Moveable Feast.

Welcome you beautiful souls. Sit sit my dear friends and loved ones. May I offer you a glass of orange juice? Tis’ the season. Fresh and ripe. When it rains, it pours. Abundant and vibrant. May I serve you luck and happiness? A simple yet mighty fruit. A sweet embrace of warmth. A traditional symbol of good fortune. A hue of a fruit so powerful it is said to symbolize gold. An auspicious fruit. A pour and token of my appreciation. A cheer. A toast. A celebration. For I only but wish you all happiness and prosperity. A squeeze of the day by yours truly, The Orange Man.

All it took was a shift. An unexpected delightful click. For it was time. Time to come into her own power. Strong as a ruby, power she played. A simple yet mighty shift. The shift of perspective. The shift of mindset. The shift of belief. Oh the power. The mighty all power of belief. Like a ruby, she stepped into the possession of unbeatable courage and unparalleled strength. Fearless and passionate. Rooted and grounded. She vowed by “this above all, to thine own self be true” ~ just as she was taught from The Teacher. Carve your path. Accept your karma. Follow your own weird. For the game of life was all but in the hands of The Ruby Girl.

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“Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." - E.E. Cummings

He was The Teacher and she was The Student. Side by side they evolved. Life was kind. Full of light. The midnight skies so clear, they were limitless. He taught her all he could. All that he had time for. One checkmate at a time, the clock effortlessly paced on. Clouds of darkness took over. Sickness and pain prevailed. He continued to teach her all he could from afar.

A heart of gold. Radiating like the sunflowers of the earth. She was empowered like an imperial gōngzhǔ. For she prospered. Blue all around like the element of wood, for growth was inevitable. Optimism was her only foresight. Advancement and immortality. Proud and strong. So she stood. Chin up. Head up. Eyes forward. Through the weaves of her straw hat, she saw the faintly faded present, future, and past.

Was it all a matter of the physics or chemistry?

Checkering through life. For each move is an act of faith.

Tied and anchored. A weight lifted off his chest. A weight as heavy as an anchor down in the deepest and darkest realms of the seas where no light is to be to be found. It was time.

Ba ba ba (八 八 八). Looped. Linked. Tied to the eights. A number that so strongly defined ones life. Living for the eights. To such a number that only but enlightened ones life. Quite the number huh?

It all made sense. The late drunken nights. Iconic tunes playing at its highest volume. The endless nights of jamming out on the piano & guitar. Piano Man was on cloud 9.

Oh Dickie, oh Dickie. Get movin, get crackin and hit the ground runnin’ with one foot in the groove. One foot right. One foot left. One foot forward. One foot back. One foot in the groove old sport.

Full of wisdom. Knowledge up the sleeve. Patience all around. Grounded and clothed through the portals of energy. A man who cared. Who listened. Nothing but pure intentions from the heart. Full of groove and soul. A constant theme of liquid intake. A lover of liquor. No one will ever know. It is just water right?

A Dream of Flight. Take a birds eye view of the world: its endless gatherings and endless ceremonies many journeys in both storm and calm and the transformations of things coming to be existing and ceasing to be. Allow your inner compass to guide you. Allow it to light your path and show you the way. Allowing nature to take its course, for the truth is jut around the corner.

Sometimes life has a funny or yet beautiful way of speaking with you. Sometimes it speaks to you in the form of numbers, a stranger, a color, a new born baby, a movie, a dream, an object, or an animal. We are the writers of our own life. Our own book. It is YOU who decides what will go in that damn book. It is YOU who chooses to see what you want to see. Let the angels act. Let the angels prance around.