the sunrise was close. and you played that song that I’ll never forget.
dads old bike rules.
your genius, apparat.
your hair looks nice.
lets hide a secret.
Visions of ourselves find vigor in the calm of fresh air and fall colors. Enlivened senses stir us from our hiding spots — inadequate havens in which we shelter ourselves from the malaise of ceaseless motion. Our everyday has left us haggard and barely breathing beneath an ever-growing layer of self-doubt. But we emerge. When the world outside has become still, and our eyelids are not burdened by the weight of a slumber out-of-reach, we embrace our vitality once more. We find our moment. One moment to quietly reflect. One moment to allow our souls to float along the streams of the westerly winds and hover breathless in rays of afternoon sun. I fantasize about this kind of paradise – the kind that breathes, the kind that cleanses, the kind that numbs our overheated nerves. I dream it takes our heartbeat back to an un-caffeinated pace and delivers the peace for which we so humbly pray.
Director: Scott Foley
Words: Laura Horton
things are falling apart. and we keep watching.
in love with the frenchies.
let your feet touch the sky.
enjoying a smoke once in a while.
