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



A Swell of Sets...

Late was the sun to set over the hills of the leeward coast as I watched bobbing from my chosen spot in the Pacific, left of the crowd, outside the inside sets, and motionless in thought save for the pallet of colors seen vaguely through the sun's remaining rays fighting through the low-hanging-dense-cloud-enriched-colorful-canvas.

"Electrifying!" Electrifying indeed was the moment says I to myself, under my breath quiet so as none could hear.

I rose and dipped slowly over and over as the swells flowed and melted under me like a blanket in the breeze.

"Is it at all possible to recreate this elsewhere? ...and would even an attempt be in vain? ...Would alternatives outweigh in some other form? Of course I've neither made an attempt nor commitment in trying but I've never claimed strangeness to places away from here before."

I waited for a reply but the sea only spoke of possibilities.

I looked again towards the west and felt the heat from the sun on my face as it dried the salty moisture on my lips. I turned and looked at the others to my rear... and I knew as certain as I was living that they too enjoyed the scene playing out, the feeling and smells free to absorb, and the moment, all theirs ... all ours.

"Yeeeee Heeeeoooww!" I bellowed at a friend acknowledging the sets building on the horizon...

For now, it is.
For tomorrow, it is unknown.

No comments:

Post a Comment