humanity
If nothing else, travel opens your eyes to the colorful quilt that is humankind.
Meadville
Having lived in Meadville, Pennsylvania for his entire 42 year life, and being the sole owner of the Brandon Family Restaurant, Mark lived a comfortable and happy life. When Mickey’s Firehouse Station opened up on the other side of town, he was afraid that he would lose business and have to close. However, the opposite has proven to be true and the restaurant is thriving! Mickey’s is an old firehouse that was turned into a restaurant, and since it gets regular write-ups in travel articles, it attracts the tourists. Locals tended to frequent Brandon’s and Mark believed he knew everyone in this town of 13,000. Imagine his surprise when a stranger arrived and sat at the bar, placed a black notebook on the counter, and asked for Mark Brandon personally.
By Jennifer Dolton5 years ago in Wander
Tree Blooms
I could hear the birds outside my window. They were singing without a care in the world. Their song filled my dingy apartment from wall to wall. What I wouldn’t give to be one of the birds sitting on the ledge of my window at 6:30 in the morning at the top of this cement four-story apartment building in the bustling city.
By Darby Hicks5 years ago in Wander
The Maiden Voyage
In the waning days of lazy summer afternoons and warm nights abuzz with the dwindling lights of fireflies, Amber could often be found beneath the fragrant Magnolia tree in her back yard. She would sprawl out on a giant blanket and read for hours and watch the clouds go by while listening to the soft, summer breeze and the symphony of rustling leaves that would soon be changing and falling to the ground. She was a dreamer and an eternal optimist, which people found to be a bit ridiculous. Amber didn't care. She might be a little silly for spending so much time with her head in the clouds, but it was just her nature and it couldn't be helped. From a young age, Amber knew she was different than all the other girls her age, but it didn't bother her in the slightest.
By Wendy Sanders5 years ago in Wander
The Wind-blown Letter
Elise zipped up her coat against the chill wind that was blowing through central Paris that afternoon, but it didn’t make her feel any warmer or happier. She normally didn’t mind the cold of late autumn because it made her mother’s little stationery shop on Rue du Pont Louis-Philippe seem even more cosy and inviting. But the shop wouldn’t be there for much longer, and the thought made her feel cold inside. Their landlord was apologetic, but said that he had to sell the building and the new owner would be tearing it down to build apartments. If they could find twenty thousand Euros he would sell it to them, but they didn’t have anything near that amount of money.
By Erl Johnston5 years ago in Wander
The Stranger on the Train
The Stranger on the Train “Do you mind if I sit here young fella” asked the old man in the faded duster? “Help yourself,” I said. Meanwhile I’m thinking great, as if this trip couldn’t get any worse, now I’ve got this old fart sitting next to me and he’s probably gonna talk my ear off. The old man sat down and began to stare out the window, something about him just seemed out of place. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it. Slowly the train began to pull out of the station at Chicago and continue its long journey westward. It’s not that I mind heading out west for the summer to spend some time with my dad, I haven’t seen him forever, I just can’t believe he would spring for an airplane ticket. This train ride is gonna take like three days to make it all the way to the Spokane terminal.
By Andrew Vandivier5 years ago in Wander
Taking the Road Not Taken
THE BUILDUP So here I am in my late fifties; I've been lucky, fortunate, or whatever, to have traveled a lot. My acquaintances consider me to be well traveled, even worldly maybe, due to some splashy social media posts and assorted adventures over the years.
By Steven Feggestad5 years ago in Wander
The Final Find
Some say there is always an unexpected change of course in the wind, meaning life can take a turn for the worse or the better in a flash of an eye. The wind changes directions in an instant, without warning, measuring up to some other result. I never thought this was an actual occurrence in life itself, that the way we did things would ever take a toll, not to the extent that it has for me anyway. The more I think about it, the more I chose not to understand it and I wonder if it's just a defense mechanism in which my brain is just trying to control or mask my feelings. Either way, there is a story here with all this rambling, one in which is hard to explain but I will do my best.
By Kaitlyn Proue5 years ago in Wander
Serenity in Chaos
The blue hue of the sky, so inviting, so large, so close. The clouds dance around my head leaving small puddles of rain around me. The vast darkness of space, mixed in with trillions of twinkles, make their way through the blue. The sky has officially fallen in on me. But not just the sky, buildings, and mountains, they all seem to fall. And here I am trying to build a house out of cards. Orange glows in the distance fills me with warmth, even at this distance. The crashing sounds wave, like ocean tides, washing away any glimpse of feeling I have left to feel. I gladly receive this baptism. I sit upon a hilltop, in a medium-sized home maybe about two or three bedrooms, in my meditative sitting position soaking up the waves and embers. Roars of wild beasts fill my heart with tingles that travel throughout my entire body, but I don’t have the ability to muster up the strength to even shed a blink. Beautiful luminous lights from the skies descend down to our land, as if on a business trip from the nebulas. I wonder what their business is for them being here, huh. But back to my house, it really isn’t even my house. I just found it on my pilgrimage and saw that there were no lights on and it was empty with an open door. It feels like mine though. I was looking for water and food, I found some, just haven’t decided to leave this place yet. Something about it is just so serene like I don’t have a care in the world anymore. People are littering the streets, setting up massive fires for warmth, and here I am, just a traveler in someone else’s home. Even though I’m not the only one that does this, it doesn’t feel the same with me. Am I supposed to be above this type of activity? I don’t know. All I know is that I haven’t moved from this porch yet in quite some time. I started to notice details in the design of this house, paneling for the sides, brick for the front, red shutters, and chimney. The reasoning for this type of shelter has now changed. The need for bolts, nails and wood, and weapons. I wonder what time was like when people felt more free, free to be themselves, free to love, free to care, free to do whatever they wanted. All I know is strife, violence, protection, hoarding, and micromanaging. All of these sights strike me as beautiful though, is it because this is all I’ve ever known? Have I truly come to accept, and embrace it? Has the world come to accept it and I follow suit? Huh. Why don’t I move from this porch? Am I scared, lazy, uninspired? What time is it? I should be getting back. The more I try to leave, the more this porch reaches its arms out and forces me not to move. If I leave, it might give this poor old porch a heartbreak, and what type of person would I be if I just left this porch all alone. I should be a good steward with it and keep it company, as it has accompanied me while I was lost in thought. Oh well, I guess we can both sit here and observe this immaculate devastating painting together, of the end of the world.
By aadaamkelly5 years ago in Wander
His Road, My Home
A new journey is on the horizon. He has purchased a new vehicle. This one he has named Journey. She has been outfitted and designed as uniquely as all the others. A womb about to birth a new lifetime. He has been preparing and packing for a week now. He always gets like this before the tires hit the pavement. An overwhelming excitement of what lay ahead. He lives for the adventure, for the not knowing, the surviving. He's packed his machete, his hatchet, and his bow and arrow. The months here have made him soft and sleepy and his body craves the alertness needed in the wildness we are heading towards.
By Acorn Elephante5 years ago in Wander
