THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Some Only Fear Mere Wolves; Part II...



All hushed in silence in the dry hay field as the ignition rotated off, opening the tractor's circuit and pausing the groan of the rusty engine. The sun baked the father and son's shoulders as they dismounted the machine to inspect a chirping noise in the baler. A grease gun was needed from the barn.

The son sheltered his eyes from the brightness of the late morning and squinted up at his father. The man kindly nodded, turned, bent low, and allowed his most valued friend, his boy, to cling to his neck for the walk.  

"The only fear I retain," the man thought, "is the fear of losing my son, of losing the love of my son, of losing the life of my son. There cannot exist no greater love in the known world than the love a father keeps for his boy. My own Pa left me when I was young, when I needed him most, when the unthought-through decisions of humankind created distance. Still, I loved him, and my boy shall always love me. There is no greater love in the known world than that of a SON'S love for his father. This is an omnipotent love, despite the ill ways of others."

...Some only fear mere wolves.


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