They stand on top of the hill above

the park and ride, view of the interstate

and various fields. Female, I believe,

standing close against the wind. Light

is bright for late February, the hint of spring

almost tangible, warmth and sun have fooled most

of the world today. Trees and flowers give

the idea that any day they could sprout and bloom

overnight, heedless of the calendar.

No matter. They go by in an instant, momentary

blurs of atoms taking up space on atoms. I turn

the radio to a talk radio station, comforted by the

voices.

Their image is still with me. I imagine secret conversations

of immense purpose, why else meet in that lonely

place devoid of anything except sparse gravel? It

seemed a scene from a movie, one I have watched on

a recommendation from a friend. Fill in the story, please.

Jeff Davis

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