Memorabilia From The Attic

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On a cold autumn afternoon, a lonely man waits for a bus in a small English town. This place has seen Kings and wars pass through here. But right now, all of that is long gone. Right up the street is a coffee house where one might hear music from around the world. Around the corner is a shopping center, where thousands of people shuffle in and out of everyday. The town is alive, but subdued. Heavy rain has worn away the cobblestone streets and encouraged people to stick near their fireplaces. The few who are out and about are gathering their last few things before heading home. On this street, there were only two people. Both of which were probably unconcerned with the weather and the untimely nature of the fall. Surrounded by changes which have affected this town long before its medieval castle first housed royals, these men sit quietly with their thoughts. They are aware of one another, but feel no need to engage. Content with the cold, they keep their distance – perhaps a representation of their generational gap, perhaps a reflection of their personalities. They stay and wait for the change.

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The change of seasons. Nature molts and reveals it’s new, raw skin. The rumbling clouds stumble across the Colorado sky towards the sunset. Families prepare to flick the lights on and gather around the table for dinner. The lake acts as a cold mirror, presenting the sky with a distorted, oscillating version of itself. In the distance sits the massive flatirons, a staple feature of the region. They sit in the dark as soon as the sun has past, but their presence is felt throughout the entire valley. Though the trees may wither with the wind and the lake may slowly rise into the sky, the flatirons sit undaunted by the passage of time. It has existed before the many young students traversed it;s face. Native tribes have stood in awe of their majesty thousands of years ago and they existed long before that. But, even with such a powerful presence in time, they are now tucked away, hiding in the shadow of a season. Instead, the foreground envelopes the landscape and captures the moment, this changing of season.

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Thirty plus miles on a bike and all the excitement that goes along with it. A friendship, which some might describe as companions. This sunset sky sits just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, a land full of treasures. Now, the buzzing and beeping of all the budding silicon overshadows everything else that goes on in this place. But in the tiniest of alcoves, places like this, one might find themselves privy to a rare slice of serenity. This is the original magic in this place, now buried deep underground. But on a sunny Saturday afternoon, two young men made a days journey to escape the noise and sit by the waterfront reflecting on their histories. A spirit of adventure ignites their conversations and excites them about the world and it’s many unusual facets. They celebrate life by the water until the movement of celestial bodies summons them towards their imminent slumber. On their return, they take a moment to reflect, as the sky does, on themselves. A quaint affair captured – to be kept away as a unique moment shared only between two people and the world.