The anonymity of the TV generation...
I rode asunder the clouds and what lay before me is what seemed to be the remnants of a gentle conflagration that had rolled through the eastern peaks and left in its wake a gentle dust of jasper and gold sprinkled all throughout the canopies. I was astride on my aluminum chariot riding high, waiting unperturbed as the earth below me lay static. Ant-sized vehicles moved simply and methodically along the gray-scaled channels; houses lay dormant as if life never stirred. I was a god, and they were my subjects. I was in love, and they were my lovers.
I was in return. I carried with me no 3x5's of what was or what had been. Moreover, I carried with me tattered visions of a few days life in a place I called home. My asymmetric box, well shall we say my mother's box, hadn't changed much. Neither had the city where this simple house lay. I still found the same characters meandering simply through their diadems they called life. Each one glistening differently; each one shining brightly.
I was lucky. As the stars shine densely in the Midwestern sky, I was lucky.
I left on this brazen chariot resting so effortlessly against the air as its support. We cleaved from one world and were now off to another. The others that sat around me, stirred with a frustrating anticipation as I so humbly and meekly strived to hold onto the moment, moreover, the vision that surrounded me. Autumn had crept in with a gentle lustre stealing the warmth from the air while burning into the trees a beautiful end. Nature was changing around us; but so were we all.