A lone red flower towers over a sea of yellow ground cover.
The distant howl of a wolf breaks the symphony of neighborhood dogs.
The sharp green eyes of an oasis peer out of the desert.
Wildly twisting, green vines engulf a lone towering pine.
The battered stop sign at a crossroads miles from civilization.
A single shell, in tact and bleached by the sea and the sun washes in the sand.
The rainbow spinnaker billowing in the breeze of white on white sails.
The rudely, arrogant cry of summer storm siren.
Long, silent stretches of feather clouds in a otherwise cloudless sky.
The introverted child sits watching in a corner of a boisterous playground.
A strikingly beautiful woman lies in the street, blood pooling beneath her motionless body.
The moment of recognition in the eyes of a faded memory.
The softly weeping mother giving birth on a city bus.
Intact columns of charred stone rise from the ashes of yesterday.
Here I am, Unique and not. I stand among you open and proud. For I am all these things and none at all. Strikingly different in who I am, yet everyday mundane and largely unseen in a world filled with all that is different.