Walking down a well-trodden and favored trail of many years, Tristan reveled in the sights and sounds surrounding him. He breathed deeply and relished the damp, mossy, odor so prevalent this early part of the day. In a few more hours, the sun would be strong enough to dry out the morning air and the  aromas would retreat for another 24 hours.

Tristan walked this trail for the past thirty years. He knew the trees by their names and could name every bird that lived in the woods as well as the birds who stopped temporarily to gather their strength as they continued their migratory journey.

It was a joyful start to each day. But not today. Or for the past many months, if Tristan admitted to himself. Joy had somehow stepped  back from inside his soul and heart. An emptiness had taken up residence there instead. Try as he might, and he tried so many ways to oust the emptiness and reopen the door for joy, joy eluded him.

He tried to recapture the exuberance and power he felt in his youth when his body was flexible and strong. He tried to remember the giddy emotions that wrapped themselves  in new found love and romance and for a moment, he felt their intensity. But it waned once the emptiness reminded him of broken promises, sorrowful nights, the loss of caring.

As he trudged the trail, he wondered if the joy he once felt was all that was allowed to him, and he had spent it frivolously in his younger years when he should have been judiciously portioning it out so that he had some to enjoy as he aged.

“What a silly thought!” he said aloud. “I should be content with what I have had. That’s all a person should expect.”

Tristan continued walking the trail when he stopped suddenly. Standing still, he listened intently. He thought he heard a sound just off the trail.

A new bird? Maybe. Just off the trail to the left.

Shall I go see what that is? Maybe. Maybe not, pondered Tristan. Oh no matter, what else do I have pressing to do.

Tristan stepped off the trail and headed left to a nearby stand of trees. Stopping, he listened again. Several moments went by without any forthcoming noise or movement. Shrugging, Tristan turned around to head back to the trail and his daily trek when sunlight  flashed to his right on something.

Moving toward the dancing sunlight, Tristan realized there was an object under some leaves. Brushing off the leaves, he uncovered a red bicycle.

A bicycle? Out here?  Yes, cyclists used the trail, but not this far off. Someone tossed it here to get rid of it or it was stolen.

Tristan could see it was in particularly decent shape. It wasn’t twisted, no flat tires, nor was it rusted.

Hmm, well, that’s odd. How did it get here and who put it here?

After a few moments, Tristan decided. He would ride it back into town and ask around if anyone knew who owned the bike and return it. He may not have joy, but at least he had purpose—for a little while anyway.

The ride back into town was uncomfortable. The bicycle was not the right frame size, so Trevor’s knees almost hit his nose when he pedaled. Pushing his knees out to the sides avoided a nosebleed, but he had some difficulty maintaining his balance occasionally.

Cycling into the town, he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb. She was holding a stick and staring straight at Tristan.

Maybe she knows something who owns the bicycle, or it’s hers, he thought.  Stopping in front of the young girl, Tristan was just about to speak,  when she abruptly stood up and said,

“I see you found it.”

“Oh then, this bicycle is yours, is it? Tristan said as he dismounted, propping the bicycle against the curb and stepping closer to the girl. “It was lying under a bed of leaves off the trail in the woods.”

The girl shifted her gaze from the bicycle to Tristan and smiled.

“No sir, it’s not mine.”

“So, then you know who it  belongs to?”

“No, I don’t, but I have  been waiting for someone to return it. I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

Puzzled, Tristan stared at girl who smiled back broadly.

“Well, if you don’t own it and you don’t know who it belongs to, how could you be waiting for its return?”

A long moment passed  before the girl answered.

“I had hope.“

“Hope? That’s it?”, Tristan asked.

The girl pointed to the bicycle behind Tristan, “Hope is something that you carry with you no matter where you go. It fits nicely in the basket.”

“What basket?”

Tristan quickly turned back to the bicycle and saw a red basket with small succulents  was now attached to the handlebars. He was sure there had been no basket when he first got on the bike.

“Wait, how did that get there?” Tristan said, moving in for a closer look.

The girl giggled, “Hope is always there silly.”

Tristan turned back to the girl, ready to ask another question,  but she was gone. Shaking his head trying to clear up the confusion of his encounter, Tristan thought, How odd. Hope in a  basket. Don’t know what she was talking about, but now I have a bicycle with a basket of hope. Well, further in town I’ll find someone who knows who this bicycle belongs to.

As Tristan mounted the bicycle, he noticed the frame seemed to fit better.

Maybe I’ve gotten a little more used to it. In any event, my knees won’t hit my nose.

A smile spread slowly on his face, the first in weeks as he made his way into town.

Midway through town, he realized he was thirsty. Stopping  by a corner store, he leaned the bicycle against a lamppost.

If it’s gone when I come back out, there’s nothing I can do about it. Someone will recognize it as their own or bring it to the owner.

Walking back outside, Tristan noticed a man standing and examining the bicycle. The man then walked up and down the length of the bike, touching it here and there, finally stepping back and staring intently.  

“Hi there,” Tristan spoke up grabbing the man’s attention. “I found that bike off the trail in the woods. Rode it into town hoping to find the owner. Is it yours?”

“Nope, not mine,” answered the man turning toward Tristan. “Although it sure looks like mine. Funny, I didn’t think there were any more like mine out there.”

“Oh yeah. It is unusual with that small basket of succulents, right?”

The man approached Tristan with a bemused expression on his face and asked,

“And where did you say you found it?”

Tristan turned from the man and pointed up the street.

“Just about a half mile in the woods off the trail, under some leaves. Funny thing, when I rode it into town, I thought it might belong to a young girl I met, but she said no and then the  basket appeared. She said it was full of hope.”

The man continued to stare at Tristan making him begin to feel uncomfortable.

“Full of hope. Yep, that’s what she said.” Tristan added.  “And, uh, you say it looks just like yours? You have a basket of hope, heh, heh, on your bicycle too? Go figure.”

The man dropped his gaze from Tristan, pointed to the bicycle, and said, “No I’m afraid it isn’t mine; I don’t have two baskets like this one.”

Following where the man pointed, Tristan saw there were now two baskets on the bicycle, one on the handlebars, one behind the seat. It too held several small succulent plants.

“Wait, that, that wasn’t there before!”

“Of course it was. It’s love and easily missed as it waits for hope. You must let yourself make room for it and it’ll grow and be in your life. That’s what hope brings, an opportunity to open yourself to love. Seeing this bike, I thought it might be mine, but it is a bit different as I look closer now. My bike has a bit smaller frame.” The man sighed deeply. “Ah well, I still have hope to guide me. Have a good day.”

Tristan watched the man turn the corner and out of sight. Perplexed, he gazed at the bike again and its two baskets.

Hope and Love. In a basket. On a bicycle. Weird! Staring at the bicycle, Tristan pondered his next move. Should he leave the bike here and walk away? Should he ride it back to the woods and leave it where he found it? As confusing as this journey was, Tristan felt a stirring of renewed emotion. Was it curiosity, was it determination? He was intrigued and felt his heart lift a bit at where his task was taking him.

No, I’ve come this. I’ll ride to down to the park and leave it there. Maybe someone will see it and claim it as their own.

Once again, Tristan mounted the bike, ready to adjust his body. To his surprise, the bike seemed to have changed. The frame was no longer small, nor the pedals too narrow. He found he could extend his legs completely and he laughed at how easily he was able to maneuver the bike. Laughing out loud, he rode effortlessly to the town park and the town pond’s edge. Jumping off the bike, he laid it down and caught his breath.

Sitting and closing his eyes, he let his mind replay the strange events of the day. He had started the day with a hollowness and loss of joy in his life and somehow ended up with a red bicycle with two baskets, holding hope and love. How silly, how strange.

I’ll soon be rid of this bike and my life will return to what it was before. No need to guess why, what, or how. This will end and nothing will have changed.

As Tristan continued to sit in the warm sun, he felt a shadow loom over him and then move away. Startled, he opened his eyes and found a young boy kneeling by the bicycle.

“Hi there. Do you recognize the bike?” Tristan asked.

Standing up, the boy turned to Tristan and replied.

“ I think so. I mean, I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“Well, which is it?”  asked Tristan, a little annoyed at the boy’s vague response.

“Uh, I mean it looks like mine. Mine’s red and it has two  baskets too, but.”

“But what? It’s either yours or not. If it’s yours, you can take it. If it’s not yours, maybe you know who owns it?” prodded Tristan.

“What I meant is that it really looks like mine, but I only have two baskets. This one has three.” The boy answered pointing  back to the bike on the grass.

Tristan spun his gaze on the bike. His eyes widened as his glance landed on the back bumper and  a third  basket atop it with small succulents as the first two.

“Did you put that basket on my bumper?” Tristan asked the boy.

“Oh no way,” said the boy shaking his head, slowly backing away from Tristan. “I have my own bike and baskets. I’m waiting for my third basket. I was just looking at yours to see what a third one looks like.”

“Ok, do your baskets also contain hope and love?” I can’t believe I’m asking this.

“Yes, they do,” answered the boy. “But I still waiting for the third. I’m happy to see that a third basket is possible. Now I have something to look forward to. Thanks, mister.”

The boy turned and walked quickly away, before Tristan could ask another question.

Tristan paced back and forth by the bike. Was someone playing with him? Was this a joke? Why the intrigue? 

Determined to put an end to the confusion, Tristan decided. He would ride back through town to the place where he first found the bike and leave it there, covered with leaves, for someone else to find and deal with it.

Once again, he mounted his bike. His. Well not technically his, but for some time now, he had been thinking about it as his. As he began to ride, a strong sense of lightness as though the bike was moving without much effort by him. Not like when he first rode it scrunched up, breathing hard and knee joints burning. He felt the soft breeze as he quickly rode through town and smelled the new blossoms on the bushes along the way. Were they there when he had first passed through? It didn’t matter. It was wonderful to just have his senses awakened.

He was almost to the end of town and the beginning of the woods and trail when he spotted the young girl he first met still sitting on the curb. He stopped in front of her.

“Hi. I couldn’t find the owner of this bicycle, and no one recognizes it.”

The young girl stood up, brushed off the dust from her backside and looked at Tristan.

“I see the bike now has three baskets,” she stated.

“It does. The one you said held hope and a fellow I met along the way said the one behind the seat held love. Now there’s a third one, but the young boy who called it to my attention never told me what it held or what it was for.”

The young girl smiled at Tristan and said,

“The third contains optimism.”

“I don’t understand,” Tristan said.

The young girl came close to Tristan still mounted on the bike and spoke.

“The first basket holds hope. If you hold onto hope, even the slimmest of it, hope edges the door open to allow light into your soul. The second basket holds love. Hope uplifts love and gives it strength to fight the darkness and emptiness of loneliness and connects you with those who will love you back. The third basket holds optimism. Without optimism and belief  in the power of hope and love you can’t achieve joy. Joy is a delicate emotion that must be nurtured every day with hope and love, or it withers in the soul and fades into darkness.

You are lucky to have found all three, which means they reside in you now but are held back by dark thoughts and poor choices. Listen to your heart, revel in nature around you and be grateful for those you meet that care for and about you. Joy will then be your companion throughout life.

Tristan gazed at the young girl as her words found his heart. He felt the ache of the loneliness he had been feeling slowly moving out of his soul. He remembered the poignancy of his youth and the giddiness of love well found and spent. A smile spread on his face.

“Thank you for your words. I hold them dearly. I have much to think about. I still have two questions for you if I might.”

“Yes.”

“Why are the baskets filled with just succulent plants?”

The girl giggled and replied, “Succulents are the most resilient of plants on earth. They survive to blossom and grow despite harsh conditions. They are in your baskets to remind you we all have the same resilience within ourselves to fight for joy and share it.  And your other question?”

Smiling, Tristan asked,

“I still haven’t found the owner of this bicycle. I don’t know what to do with it?”

“That’s simple, the bicycle Is yours.”