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



Virginia...

Ah yes, to sit. To sit quietly in front of a tall trio of front room windows with curtain aside – the morning sun filtering through, painting my face, right arm and knees. A chair. A cup of coffee, strong with cream. Billie Holiday’s “All of Me” melting in the background silence.
Moments held high in value, easily assembled yet so rarely scheduled.
Pity.
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