The glow of the fire warms my legs as I search the faces of my companions for some sign of hope. I look first at Courage, but he looks down. Then, I steal a glance at Beauty, but she runs away.
Patience is just across from me rocking back and forth; he’s too busy with the twiddle of his thumbs. At last, Kindness meets my gaze, and returns a smile. “Go back,” she whispers, but I don’t know where.
I spread my arms and legs out angelically in the snow, but I am no angel. I only know how hard it is when no one believes in you.
I am one hundred and eight years old, and some days I act accordingly, all 108 years showing in my stride and in my gaze.
Other days I pick another age. I am 7, inches of snowfall; I am 12, on the soles of each shoe; some days I am just born, seeing the world for the first.
But when picking an age, I make sure to ignore my waist size, my thread count, or the vintage on last night’s bottle of Burgandy.
My journey is now reaching new heights and new speeds; it has me frightening myself and falling down, looking through goggles and learning how to snowboard.
cold is creeping into my core, and i am losing my ability to remember what it is to be a warm gnome.
Approaching the beast, I expected animation at any moment, but I then noted the groups and families freezing before the bull’s face, and smiling towards cameras. Surely this tremendous animal had been put under some sort of a spell; I imagined the bull at the height of youthful power and force over stepping some godly law, upsetting the balance, and then being instantly transformed into bronze and sentenced to an eternity along an urban street. But what of myself? Having been cast out of my garden by a journey and set among the concrete. I had left my gnomely life and family in search of something, and one day my veins may run metal, and my beard gleam bronze, my eyes lifelessly reflecting light. It was with this thought that I grabbed hold of the bull’s misfortune; I anchored myself with his golden horn and thrust my leg over his neck, fully dominated him. I cast my glance towards the camera and tried to smile, thinking of what must have been done to deserve this fate; where his journey had taken him.
the greatest pleasures in life are created over time with deliberation, are savory and best served thinly sliced.