"While walking one evening under a full moon, the clouds appeared to be made of lace. In the distance, a glow from the city lights broke through the clouds in the night sky. I could visualize the fleeting spirit of an old farmer and his wife, guided by the frail glow of an old kerosene lamp and his sure-footed horse, vanishing into a tangle of noise and congestion that will eventually swallow everything in its path, leaving only memories . . . memories of another time."

- James Lumbers