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As the Wind Moves As I sit perched 14000ft above the earth, I peer out onto the mountain range that surrounds me. The summits of these prehistoric monoliths jut up and down as far as my eyes can see. Like hundreds of jagged teeth, they tear into the glorious blue sky above them. The silver surface of the vast lake below me shimmers as the bright glow of the sun stretches out across its metallic skin. The vibrant green of the valley meets the lake at its glittering shores. Like an endless carpet of miniscule ferns, this evergreen rug tumbles outwards from each side of the lake, cascading eastwards and westwards down the valley. Following the scars left by an unstoppable glacier an eon ago, this unrolled carpet of green flows down the valley like rainwater surging towards a storm drain. Each stretch of green eventually vanishes behind a mountain continuing into some other yet unseen valley. And there I am. One single human, huddling behind a wall of rocks, sheltering from the biting wind. A speck of sand, balancing upon the point where drifting plates of unimaginable size collide together, forcing stone and rock upwardspiercing the heavens. I reach down between my legs; my cold hand claws at the even colder dirt. My fingers clasp a handful of gravel. As I slowly open my hand, the gravel spills through my fingers. Like sand in an hourglass, this ancient dirt slips away and onto the wind. Beginning a new journey, one that started at the bottom of an ocean, paused for awhile upon a towering mountain, and begins once more upon the wind of a cold Colorado morning. From inside my pocket I remove a small photo of my wife, sealed forever inside a Ziploc bag. I rest the photo face up at the bottom of a small hole I have dug atop of this mountain. After taking one last look, I refill the hole. Standing up, I then begin to stack several heavy and weathered rocks upon the small, disturbed plot. Then, after one last look into the valley below, I begin my descent down the spine of this venerable

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mountain. Thus my journey continues. Like the dirt I had held in my hand, my passage through this world has not yet reached its final destination. What began in a small town on the coast of England has paused for an instant atop of this vast mountain; there, where the air is thin and within reach of the ice blue ceiling of this tiny planet, it begins again. As the summit shifts out of view, I let myself be propelled forward and down. Allowing the wind to lift me up, I fly off into the Colorado sky. There above the mountains of Colorado I glide on the swirling currents of air that fill the sky. Some rush down the side of mountains into the deep valleys below, like a rollercoaster, plummeting down that first weightless drop. Others soar high above the earth, above the clouds, where the blue sky mingles with darkness as it meets the universe. Each one unstoppable, each one plotting its own course. The origins of each stream unique, from the lush jungles of Borneo, to the frigid wastelands of Antarctica, each has travelled countless miles, yet all have converged here, touching, brushing alongside one another, if only for a moment, then they part. As I shift from one current to another I can sense each one, the salt of the Pacific touches my tongue, the crisp frost of the Himalayas creates a ripple of goose bumps across my skin, the sweet smell of heather from the hills where I grew up smothers me. I am aware of each one, each uniquely separate from the last. I think of my journey, the winds that have carried me. I feel a strong current lift me up. I break the clouds, soaring upwards towards the stars. I can smell lavender, spices; the scent of clean clothes fills my nostrils. My mother moves in our kitchen. In the dark cold of space I feel warm, safe, a familiar sense surrounds me. I want to be loved, to love others. I rush forward, this current guides me, pushes me on, beyond the stars. I feel unstoppable, nothing beyond my reach. But, it does not hold. I feel the coldness of space, as if suddenly aware of the empty

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blackness. My ascent stops, turning, gyring down towards the earth. The scent of talcum powder, of locker rooms, of cheap cologne rushes past me. My father. I look for him to guide me, to check my descent towards the ground that rises to meet me. I feel a rigid hand force me down, not allowing me to turn. An ethereal will weighing me down. My father is with me, his ideas, his wishes, his wants. All his, not mine. Just as I anticipate the embrace of the earths surface, I feel a new current, it speaks to me, asks me to reach out, to let it carry my weight. I break free. A new current buoys me. I hear music, Beethovens 9th, punk rock, Joy Division, Elizabeth Frasers bewitching voice beckons me on. I turn and shift at will. I feel alive, electric. They all sing for me, they sing for my pain, for my loneliness, they all sing for me. Their music becomes a symphony, a new composition written for my ears alone. For the first time I feel unique, separate. Not my mother, not my father, but something made from them both. I twist upwards, spinning like the baton in a conductors hand as he guides the raw emotion of the crescendo up, up, up. I explode. A maelstrom of a thousand currents swirls around me. I am full of hope, free, free to choose my next path. I hover within the burst of this firework. Each new stream showering down, glittering with a million sparks. I close my eyes, breath in the cold air, and then push off to the leftletting fate decide my next path. I rush forward. Gliding down this new riptide, eyes closedblackness. Coasting up, left, down, right; a waterslide, cool air splashing my face, suddenly I break free, sunlight on my face, the tunnel behind me. The air around me is full of noise, hitting me like rain on a tin roof. Smells rush past, conjuring forth moments, images, the smell of a fresh coastal morning, riding my bike, wind in my hair. A cafeteria, school, the chatter of friends, laughter mixed with the excitement of youth. The smell of perfume and popcorn, a cinemamy first kiss, I feel young again, butterflies in my stomach, I leap backwards, somersaulting with tingling exuberance. Pain

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hits me, petrol, oil, my body jolts, knocking me through the air. I hear the screams of friends, the screeching of brakes, I spin, tumble, a car flipped off its axis, I come to rest upside down, the air thrown from my lungs . I smell wet grass, hear the wail of sirens. I feel lucky to be alive. I pick myself up, carry on, move forward. I bask in this shower of experience. I let it flow over and through me, each rivulet pregnant with DNA. As each one leaves me, a part of it forever remains, altering my DNA, shaping the cells that grow around it. I mutate, become something different with each passing pulse. I feel the need to move, to seek out new currents. I feel greedy. I am engulfed by the aroma of the exotic. New lands draw me in, the fragrance of curry, the acidic sting of rubber plants, Malaysia wafts by, the smell of corn, of the cool clear skies of Illinois invade my senses, big cars and big ideas fill me like an apple pie fills a ravenous child, America moseys on by, then follows the smell of coffee and cannabis, of good times in the cafes of Amsterdam, of cigarettes and sweet wine, of Paris in the summer, of freshly settled snow, the mellow strum of my brothers guitar reverberates through the dead of a Finnish winter. A cocktail of nations follow, their scent soaking into my skin, India, Greece, Morocco, Italy, Mexico, and a dozen more. At the end of it all I taste a familiar place. I close my eyes. I see blue windows, a worn door, safe and secure, like the trunk of a giant oak. I smell sea salt mixed with curry, and the scent of clean bed sheets. The warmth of a hot water bottle burns at my side. I hear the clack of dog nails across linoleum floor. I reach for the door knob. I am home. The beginning of my story, my once upon a time. But I dont open the door; I leave it as it is. Forever there, sealed up, tucked away at the core of me, safe, comforting, and untouched. Peacefully I float, drifting from one memory to another, when one last fragrance draws me down. The smell of sweet lilac, mixed with coffee and the faint smell of cigarettes. As I

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draw closer this current buffets my own. It twists around me, squeezing mine like a constrictor. The scent of leather seats on a summers day. Of perfume laced lingerie stuffed under my pillow to take the edge off the pain of absence. The sun breaks through the clouds; the sky becomes gold. Golden like the hair my fingers long to run through, golden like the smile that makes my heart beat a measure faster, golden like the ring I wear around my finger. I let myself be carried in this twisting vortex of beauty. No longer able to sense where my current ends and the other begins. We are one, whether we soar or whether we crash, always one. I clasp my hand tight, and there in the clouds, something clasps my hand back. The earth looms into view, I feel no danger. There ahead I see the path leading off the mountain. We swoop down low, my feet touch the ground. My heart remains calm as we weave through the trees, steady, happy, knowing that Im not alone. The tree line breaks as I slowly jog to a halt. I am still. In front of me is the car. I am ready to go home.