In my World of clinging to all possessions like memories, the time had come to remove him from my mantle. In the basket on the handlebar he went. The wind visibly blew a layer of dust from his bald head and happy belly as he faced forward to the sunny spring morning. He smiled as we weaved along the sidewalks pulled by the Nice dog steed who was possessed with moving forward to the top of Broadway, over Phoenix Hill, down to Spring Street to Beargrass Trail along the Creek it is named after. Through to the trailhead and along the edge of the park and by the Cherokee Triangle, by the simple Memorial stone erected to my mother then up to where the Art Fair is held the weekend before the Kentucky Derby. I had found the smiling plaster cast statue while clearing out an apartment years ago. Later I met the man who had made the figure when he worked at a local business, he recognized the mark he made on it's base. That man is dying of cancer now and I fancied riding part of him on a final trip around the park, his essence bouncing in the basket ahead of me. We made our way back to the Songs for Seba to my artist friend where the Smiling Buddha will be reborn, cleaned, repainted, and passed on to another's mantle.
One less thing. One more pleasant memory. A weight lifted.