Canvas

I cannot take credit for this work.  However, I can take credit for having a hand in creating its creator: my 15-year-old son.  I was so impressed when I was typing it up that I had to share.  He has given me permission to reprint it here.  It's a simple premise: a bike ride, told so beautifully.  Yeah, I'm a proud mama.

Canvas

The wind blows past my face, gentle and cool.
The asphalt below burns hot, but I never touch it.
The seat of my bike is hard and I slide forth with every push.
As we climb as one being, I feel its heart beat,
Apart from my own but present as the asphalt's heat.

Her tires slide to a halt and we part ways.
She waits, for my climb must be made alone.
The gravel crunches under my soles and the world gossips.
Ants march their rounds and the green lizard shouts silence.
The sky crests the top of the hill, the clouds watch my ascent.

The top is reached, my eyes are closed and the world speaks to me.
Through darkness, I feel the wind grasping my hand.
The sunlight meets my skin, a blind date of my arrangement.
Smells of the sand reach my nose.  They dance.
My eyes finally open and a flash of valley canvas appears.

These films play around me, my senses the projectors.
I am the canvas of the world.

- Christopher Chavez

Heather Chavez, Real Estate Virtual Assistance - Second Self Virtual Assistance: When There Isn't Enough of You to Go Around