Lost and Found

The wheels dip in and out of the bumps, trying to throw the bike off track, and I feel the shock of each landing in my legs, unaccustomed to the uneven terrain. I catch myself with just enough balance, and manage to stand up on the pedals with loose knees, bouncing with the bumps. The trees suddenly open up, and I hit the brakes too hard, the back wheel skids to the side. My partner slides up beside me, and we stare open-mouthed at the towering trees above. The entire scene is pulsing with life and detail and promise.

"Know where we are?" she asks, panting slightly. Her hair has been untied, and falls around her face, tangled and damp.

"Sort of."

There is nothing like getting lost to find yourself. Driving, on roads, with houses, everywhere goes somewhere, and everywhere ends, but out here, it's unlimited. It takes everything you know and rips it open in a harsh perspective.

Something locked deep inside of me breaks, and bubbles up and bursts out, and I laugh. It's loud and sharp against the softer sounds, but the ring seems to blend to something in the hum that was already there. Here, there are only trailhead markers to suggest that someone else might've been there once, if ever, written without much shape or personality, and quickly forgotten.

Later, we break out of the maze, and I stop on the rocky path. One of the stones catches my eye. It's white, and shiny. Without thinking, I scoop it up and hold it to the setting sun. The light seems to set it on fire. It seems clear and cloudy at the same time, a doorway, a passage to another world. One small stone, on the borderline between civilization and a great escape.

Home again, I place the white stone in the bottom of an empty fishbowl. It sits at the bottom, and the rest of the bowl seems vastly empty, waiting to be filled up, with trinkets, memories, doorways, stories.