It is around the same time.

It’s April.

I think it is.

I remember it’s cold.

It’s colder than April should be.

And I’m walking.

I’m walking and walking.

Down an infinitely straight road.

The kind of road you see in a dream.

The kind of road that offers no hope.

No comfort to a weary traveller.

Except I’m not weary.

And I am hopeful.

I’m walking.

I’m walking down this road.

I don’t see it at first.

It’s a gate.

A wrought iron gate.

A gate that keeps things out while still looking beautiful.

It’s the kind of gate from a story book.

A gate that keeps the mythical world secret.

Behind the gate is shrubbery.

It’s almost wild.

The green behind the iron gate stands out.

I think that’s why I stop.

I think that’s why I pay attention.

I think it’s why my fingers move toward my camera.

That’s when I see the diamond in the rough.

The mythical figure behind the gate.

The shiny and clean figure.

Elegantly hidden.

Hidden in plain sight.

If you’re looking.

That’s where we are.

On memory lane.

There are 34 memories left.

I am Timi