He felt discovery; a child’s doll lay propped against a tree. It was old but treasured, loved but lost. A tiny rip from long ago had become a battle scar on its jovial face. There was sadness in its bright, button eyes, for it had been abandoned. The discoveries had belonged to the doll’s former owner. The onslaught of new and exciting emotions had no tolerance for an old doll. "Out with the old and in with the new, " the piping pastries and painted faces of new, china dolls had told her. The doll had no chance against such temptations and found itself enjoying the day from the view by the tree. Perhaps later, when the gayety of the fair had abandoned her, the child would realize that she had abandoned her treasured friend and grow to regret her decision. "The doll will have a new home," the man thought, placing it in a pocket of his worn jacket, so the head peeped above the top.

He felt love; a lock of bright copper hair lay in the dust. A, now trampled, green ribbon was tied around the silken lock. The symbol of devotion caused his heart to soar. It had not lost its sheen, good, he would have been worried had it gone dull. Their love would last even when trampled. Adversity would lie in their path but in the end, they would triumph. The lock found a spot in the man’s breast pocket, near his heart.

He felt loss; one cart had a tarp thrown about its goods. All other carts were gone, but this solitary one remained. He touched spots where tears had landed on the soft, polished wood. They left marks that bled into the dust below. A blanket was tossed over their gathered foods, tied quickly with a rough piece of twine. Their makeshift protection had not succeeded in guarding most of the goods. Beneath the shelter, only a few, over-ripe fruits remained. The people they had foolishly trusted pinched any of the delicious-looking offerings. Somehow, he doubted the family would even notice as they returned to get it, minus one member. The man gave the cart a pat but left it where it was.

He felt competition; flowers lay scattered in the path set by two sets of footprints. The two distinctive sets were sometimes rushed and sometimes calm and calculating. They circled and entwined each other. The ground was clear in the shape of a person’s back, near the flowers. Dainty knees had lain near the smaller, fallen youth. The flowers were the remnants of a bouquet gathered with the most earnest of love. A sharp yank had lifted the dainty knees from the ground to the winner. However, the man chuckled at the signs of a hard stomp and a quick slap by a small hand. The signs of the knees returned the ground. Only to rise quickly again when the back rose. Two sets of footprints, one from the battle, ran off into the woods. The larger of the footprints from the battle followed the other two but soon gave up. Size was good in fights but not in races. The man smiled at the triumph of mutual affection while lifting a humble daisy to his lapel.

He felt desperation; loaves of bread were scattered around a woven reed basket. The wind echoed a mother’s frantic cries. The search had taken her around stalls, under carts, and up every tree in the clearing. Tears of happiness had been scattered all around where the wheels of a candy cart had once sat. A coveted lollipop sat in the middle of the location, quickly abandoned at mother’s presence. He had been so frightened when she left. Simply stopping to use his gathered pennies for the candy, the son lost sight of his beloved mother and she him. Their reunion had no scolding, no accusation, simply relief. The man pondered the lollipop before placing it, wrapped in tissue, next to the now happy doll.

His blue eyes looked out into the mass of emotions, without seeing a simple form. A light, white film had covered their azure depths for longer than he could remember. He saw more than any other who had visited that day, relating to each of them through their simple quirks that made them who they were. Each presence had left their mark on that landscape of life. While others may forget them, the old man would not. Each was now a part of him and the loss of one would leave him incomplete.

He walked down the gently winding road. There he kept walking until he came to the sea. The gentle spray washed over his face and the waves lapped onto his ankles. With each step he took, he sank deeper into the water than the landscape allowed. The tiny particles of his body separated, flipping through the water like children who have come home. Soon, only his eyes remained. They sat blue beneath their cover of filmy white, washing in the endless tides. There they would remain, until a year had passed and the old man would again return to the scene, to breathe in the revitalizing emotions of the humans. The doll, lollipop, daisy, and hair floated to the sediments in the bottom, pushed gently by the rolling waves. There they solidified into twisting coral shapes, becoming part of the endless beauty of the man’s domain.