Where Friends Are Found

Rating: 5.0

Bryce still remembered the smell that soared in the air that evening; a combination of gingery sweetness of wild flowers, hazelnut crust and ripe raspberries. The smell of hot summer evening, when the sun had already hidden its rays for the night, but the earth was still breathing out the steam of the day fever. That July, two years ago, was particularly hot, particularly humid and promising to be particularly boring for Bryce Gordon. Having just finished his second year in college and planning to spend the summer working in the local amusement park, Bryce wasnt particularly anticipating that summer. Moreover, most of his college friends had moved out of campus for the summer and travelled back to their homes while he, as always, was stuck in Grindson for the whole summer since this was where he grew up and spent every summer of his life. So, the goal for the season was to simply stay in town and try to survive the heat of the Central Texas prairie. That Tuesday, July seventh, was a regular day, like many others, nothing special or extraordinary. Bryce had worked all through his morning shift in the park, without a single pause and was already free by five. Having nothing much to do, he decided to take his old green-and-blue Cannondale bike and ride to the little wood just outside Grindson. But first he drove home on his old maroon Ford truck that was getting rustier than maroon every year. The truck was his grandmas present and Bryce had loved this piece of steel and rubber dearly ever since he got it for his seventeenth birthday. Selling this truck and buying something more suited for actual driving, never seemed like an option; not because the question of who would have possibly actually paid real money for this wreck didnt have an answer, but because Bryce couldnt imagine himself spinning the wheel of any other car, but his oldie. Bryce took a cold shower, prepared a couple of turkey sandwiches, cut a few fresh tomatoes from the little backyard garden my mom was so caringly keeping and put a couple of water bottles from the fridge into the little, blue, portable trunk he had just bought and welded on, recently. With that done, he put on his headphones and hopped on the bike. It was a little past six as Bryce rode through the field of scorched grass and wild daisies, took a turn left and then continued along the little muddy pond into the woods. The pond was much smaller than two weeks ago, when he was last here. As Bryce was riding by the pond, he thought that, in a few weeks from now, there probably wont be much else but a swampy puddle left of it, if the days continued getting so hot and the rains kept ignoring this part of the state as if they were mad at the citizens of Lampasas County.

When Bryce reached his destination point, a cozy round grassplot with cute natty bells of pink and blue bluebonnets here and there, half-covered with the shadows of the branchy wild Texas Mulberry trees, he was all sweaty and started thinking that going for a ride, this time of day, was too rash a decision on his part. Bryce took off his faded green John Deere cap that was wet from the sweat, whisked off the sweat drops from his temples and tousled his short brown hair. His head was spinning, water gave little relief from the thirst and the least thing he wanted, at the moment, was that warm flapjack of a sandwich that seemed so delicious half an hour ago. As Bryce sat on the ground and sipped on a second bottle of water, his plans for a picnic slowly changed into plans for a late afternoon nap. He suddenly felt worn out; as if the heat had completely drained him during this brief bike ride. Bryce lay straight on his back in the shadow of the oldest and bushiest mulberry tree on the grassplot. This tree had been here for as long as Bryce could remember. When he was a little child, he used to come here with his older brother and this was when they scratched their names on the bark of its trunk. Bryce hoped the tree wasnt still mad at them for that childish prank that left a deep scar, in the shape of their names, on the coarse, rusted surface of the trunk When Bryce woke up to the sound of someones breath right next to his ear, it took him no more than a second to remember where he was and to look over at the young, tall girl who was sitting cross-legged in front of his face, smiling and eating mulberry. Bryce sat up on the grass, cleared his throat and mumbled Hi in return to the girls greeting. Surprisingly, his voice sounded kinked and shaky, like the voice of an irresolute teen boy at the sight of a cute girl. Well, he felt exactly that way too. But, the girl seemed to have ignored how embarrassed Bryce suddenly felt. She serenely stretched out her right arm and offered Bryce a handful of mulberry. The girl was wearing a pair of bright orange trainers, jeans Bermuda shorts and a simple, white tank top. She looked very cute, with a ponytail to the side and a couple of tiny freckles on each of her cheeks. She was about Bryces age, maybe a year younger. Natasha came across the grassplot some fifteen minutes ago, but she already knew that her adventure had just started and was going to be an exciting one. What this girl didnt know was that she had just found more than a new friend; a friend for a lifetime and the future love of her life. There was something tempting and promising in the way that boys lashes kept twitching in his sleep and Natasha just couldnt resist waking him up and looking into his sincere, faded, blue eyes, to find the answer.

A Walk in the Park

Rating: 5.0

Living in the city is hard, even for those who were born in the industrialized environment of crowded streets, huge supermarkets, crammed subway and polluting factories. I was born and raised in Dallas, so I know first-hand about heavy traffic and five-level interchange roads. However, before I moved to New York City, I was apparently not very well prepared for surviving in the Big Apple. I love NYC, but sometimes it becomes too much, and I just have to escape from the noise to free my mind from all the routine worries, to clear my thoughts and remind myself that, despite how hard and challenging life can get, I still have to enjoy the road along the way to success, while achieving my dreams. Everyone needs to take a break from the crazy pace of NYC lifestyle, once in a while. When I ask myself where the best place to do that is, I do not have to think for more than a second. My favorite spot in the NYC is the Van Cortlandt Park, with its long paving trails that I so much like to ride on my bike, passing jungles of trees and bushes so wild that they make you believe you have escaped the city completely, and are somewhere in the middle of a real rich forest. I love its ample, spacious green valleys, that remind me of those gorgeous Scottish hills you can sometimes see in the movies, with white, puffy dots of sheep, and lonely, chunky trees, here and there. I love the impetuous dashing stream of the Tibbets Brook, and the contrasting calm, and breathless pacifying waters, of the Van Cortlandt lake. Last week I made my annual escape to the park. I was alone, didnt take my bike this time, only my camera and my six senses which was all I needed to enjoy a day away from work, buzz and crowds. I first went to the Parade Ground, watched as a couple of cricket players ran back and forth in their crisp white mantles that sparkled in the sun like diamonds. Just like those sheep in the Scottish hills, only whiter and much faster. Not wanting to get burned in the bright morning sun rays, I quickly moved on to reach my destination the meadow grassplot spot in the middle of the oak forest. I had spotted this location before, and promised myself to go there again. As I moved through the dense forest of the park, I pushed away the ample fluffy branches that came in my way, trying not to hurt any of the big flat leaves, or neat, perfect acorns that covered each branch. Wanting to be closer to nature, I decided not to take the pathway but, instead, go directly through the forest. It was as if there wasnt a sign of civilization around me at all. The oak trees were my favorite, with their wide, strong, mossy trunks and tender, roundish leaves. The air was still wet from the early morning shower. While everywhere, in the open, it had already been very dry and hot, as if there wasnt a shower at all, the shadows of the forest still preserved the moist

humidity, intensified by the smell of wet moss and last years leaves that still lay on the ground. I loved this deep moist air, saturated with oxygen and filled with freshness. As I was moving through the forest, a couple of times I came across little glades with no trees. They were intensely lit by the rays of the summer sun, like small islands of happiness, not enough to make me too hot from the fullness of sunlight, but enough to bathe my face, and arms, in their warmth. And just when it was getting too hot, I could again dive into the pool of fresh, moist. greens of the forest, to appreciate the shadows of the generous old oaks. I stopped a few times, took my camera out and captured the play of the light and shadow, spellbound by natures simple beauty that we tend not to notice, looking for chic and glam instead. Half an hour later I was at my destination point. The valley lay right in the middle of the park, between the forest and the lake, thoughtfully muffled by nature, protected from the inner noises and fuss. There were a couple of people already sitting on the grass, picnicking, reading, just laying down dreaming. Even though I wasnt alone on the meadow this time, I actually appreciated this fact: I could observe the people merge and coalesce with nature, in this somewhat utopian picture of perfect idyll.

Inspirational Splash Photography

Rating: 5.0

Modern art was never my thing. I like good old oil paintings of the French impressionism era by Oscar-Claude Monet or Eugne Boudin, with their gaudy ornate shapes, romantic pastel colors and vivid rich nature; or the incredible juxtapositions and surprising idiosyncratic combinations in the surrealistic fantasies by Salvador Dal and Pablo Picasso. But not modern art, with its minimalistic and bold lines, simplistic shapes and daringly loud colors. To me, modern art is too much about the hidden, and too little about the visible sense behind every painting. But, I do realize that I might be very wrong in labeling all modern art with one clich, thus I am always open to new experiences. So, when last week my friend invited me to a gallery exhibition by Jack Long whom I had never heard of before, I was quite enthusiastic about it. But, when I saw the works by this artist from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, I was truly amazed. The exhibition comprised a collection of the photographs that the artist has named Vessels and Blooms. I have seen instant photography pictures before, but nothing that artistic. It usually looked like a set of bright and juicy splashes of colored water, beverages, or paints captured randomly, with no particular order, except for the combination of shades that would look nice or contrasting together. But, what Jack Long has done is a completely new level of instant photography combined with fine art. The artist (I believe it would be wrong to call him simply a photographer since what he does looks more like paintings than like photography) creates amazingly beautiful pictures using water, dyes, pigments and thickeners, shaping them into flowerpots of lilies, tulips, roses, peonies and orchids. These exceptionally realistic, glossy and bright threedimensional images, with a hint of movement to them, which made the pictures somewhat romantic, instantly mesmerized me. The artist captures a single moment and does more than just preserve it. He actually creates the art during those milliseconds of beauty that flickers in front of us, and that our eyes wouldnt be able to capture otherwise. One image struck a particularly strong impression on me. It was a bright orange flower on a plain wide background. It resembled a fragile poppy, being torn apart by the wind, vulnerable to the air attack, but so beautiful and breathtakingly tender. The primarily orange flower had mustard yellow specks and inclusions that formed a subtle and elusive transparency of the flowers pestles. This evasive and tenuous image reminded me of the fragility of natures beauty, and its vulnerability under humans influence and the polluting impact of our existence. The delicateness of this image, and the beauty of the idea, hypnotized me. I couldnt look away from this magnificent picture with which I instantly fell in love, so I just had to purchase it. And now this frail and gorgeous

orange flower on a dainty brittle stem is what I look at every day, and instantly remember how precious the feeling of happiness is. I cant help but associate this meringue and airy flower with love and happiness so imperceptible, volatile and eluding, yet so magical and breathtaking at the same time. Thank you, Jack Long, for the inspiration and fervor that one of your works brings into my life every day now!

My Favorite Restaurant
Rating: 5.0

As a child, I wasnt fond of eating out. My family would eat out at least once a week, often more than once, and every time we went anywhere, but for a little place called Rivenees, it was a challenge for my parents. Rivenees was that lucky exception I loved the place and this made my parents love it too. The place seemed so magical and fascinating to me then, when I was still an elementary school kid, and surprisingly, the place still very much fascinates me today. Just recently, when I visited my old family house for Thanksgiving, I was surprised and pleased to find out the place still operated and, in fact, was still run by the same family. Apart from the house in which I grew up, Rivenees is probably the dearest place to me in the little town, just outside of San Ramon, where I was born and raised. What is so special about the place? Well, it is hard to answer this question in just a few words. First of all, Rivenees is a small and cozy place, and this is what probably earned my love in the first place. This, and the people who worked, and still work there of course. Unlike the bigger restaurants, diners and chain buffets my parents also took me to, Rivenees was a family-owned business run by a middle-aged couple, Janette and Derek. When I think about them now, I still remember their warm smiles and sincere care for everyone around them. Missis Jan, as I would call her, loved orange shades, both in her outfits and in the restaurants interior decor. Warm orange and yellow-pomegranate furniture, sunny-colored napkins and curtains, country-style hard wooden tables and stools at the bar everything was solid and comfortable about the place. Missis Jan would always have something orange in her outfit to match the place, as I then thought. Be it a bright orange ribbon in her hair, or a peachy neat cotton dress, or creamy red nail polish this woman always belonged to the place like nobody else, and I doubt it was only the external resemblance. Her husband Mr. Derek was older, with graying hair and a little moustache, which made him look a little strict to me at the time. But the moment he started talking, his deep, soft and half-laughing voice, with that particular tender frog-in-the-throat vibes, he would make me listen to his every word with my mouth open. The man was like a magician to me: mysterious and a little scary even, yet so fascinating and magnetic. And of course there was his daughter, the first love of mine, then a five-year old. She was a blonde pony-tailed girl of 7 or 8 with cute bangs, very lively and active. She would be running around the place, attracting the attention of visitors with her sonorous laughter that made you laugh in return, or at least smile back at the little sunny creature running around the place.

When I visited Rivenees after all these years, the memories flashed back through my mind in a heartbeat, and I suddenly felt like a child again. The place was still a sunny planet of orange and light, very bright, yet comfortably relaxing and pulsating with fresh energy. I instantly felt like home, and a big bouquet of freshly cut wild daisies, neatly tied with an orange ribbon, made me think of Missis Jan. The food tasted the same crispy and puffy home-made corn bread was my favorite part of the meal then, and it tasted like it did in my childhood to me now. My parents still eat at the Rivenees from time to time, still order their favorite specials and enjoy the evening with Missis Jan and Mr. Derek, remembering the good old times.

Amazing Prague
Rating: 5.0

Europe has always fascinated and attracted me, but I never thought that it would be anywhere close to what it seemed to me. You know how whenever something you anticipate becomes a reality, it never lives up to your expectations? So, when my friend suggested that we go to Europe on a summer vacation, I was prepared to be a little disappointed, even though I was very excited about the trip. But, it turned out to be just the opposite. European beauty and the nobleness lingering in the atmosphere, its architectural and historical allure went beyond even my wildest expectations. But, out of all the cities and towns we visited in Central Europe, which included Vienna, Warsaw, Munich, Hamburg, Berlin, Budapest and Krakow, the city that made the biggest impression on me was definitely Prague. I do not know if it is the story behind every landmark, stone and bridge, if it is the gorgeous majesty of every little faade detail of the incredible gothic cathedrals, or the resplendence of the interior finery of the castles and cathedrals that left me so speechless, but to this day I have no doubt that there is no other city in the world that can compare to Prague. With its peculiar romantic scent, fresh youthfulness of the students and picturesque city views, Prague to me is far more attractive than Paris, London or New York put together. My acquaintance with Prague started on the bus from Vienna, where I listened to a tour guide telling us the story of how the city was established. When we arrived in Prague, the first thing we went to see right from the hotel was, of course, the Charles Bridge. With the foundation laid in 1357, this pedestrian bridge across Vltava was literally built on blood and eggs, that were poured into the composite to hold the bricks together, and it proved to be firmer than any cement mix. Fascinated by the fact, we went on to examine the statues of Saints on every post of the bridge, while we listened to the story behind each of the statues. There were many other things that inspired and fascinated me: the beautiful and mysterious Loretta; the breathtaking and sublime Saint Vitus Cathedral; the eminent and enduring Church of Mother of God before Tn; the fantastic and dreamlike Dancing House; and the childishly bright and colorful Zlat ulika, where you feel like you a part of a fairy tale. The whole of Prague is like a fairy tale of its own, with the millions of unbelievable stories running through its veins. But, the thing that made the biggest impression on me was the sunset above the Prague Castle. The scenery was just bewitchingly beautiful, dazzling and breathtaking. The sun, just barely reaching the sharp peaks of the Castle that pierced the peachy sky with soft

billowy clouds; the shadows of the towers reflecting in the peaceful waters of Vltava; the slightly audible melody of violin and flute echoing somewhere in the air. It is incredible, it is magnificent and it makes you feel like time has stopped, like you have travelled back in time to the medieval era, and feel the life-force more vividly than ever all at the same time. We spent over three weeks in Europe, and just two days in Prague. But it seems like my memories of Prague have overshadowed the rest of the journey, taking up most of my emotions and feelings. Prague is worth composing laudatory odes and songs about, Prague is worth admiring, and most certainly, Prague is worth visiting again and again, because it has so much history in it, that you can unveil and discover every bit of it and still be mystified by this gorgeous city.