music drifts on the back of a smokey evening haze. i am sitting outside of my cabin with one leg draped over the arm of a wicker chair the color of sand and reading intently the third part of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being. each night at dusk, minerets announce the muslim call to prayer. the hot breathe of the wind carries this beautiful lilting sound to every last stretch of human construction, accompanied by the howling of dogs.
"Sabina was now by herself. She went back to the mirror, still in her underwear. She put the bowler hat back on her head and had a long look at herself. She was amazed at the number of years she had spent pursuing one lost moment."
the sky deepens and trees become lightheaded, pirouetting coyly about the manicured lawn. the wind bends and coils, whistling its faint regard for the world below.
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