Monday, July 12, 2010

Hovering

In my glass office tower, I'm waiting alone for a piece of paper to be passed to me so I can go. Sunshine comes in. I'm in no hurry. There's nothing but leisure after this and that can start early. I can see the city below, tiny ant people, and eventually I see the gliding of an arc swing my way in the skyline. It is my cherry-red hover motorcycle. It parks across the street, hovering a few yards up the light post. We've arranged the time and it won't wait long. There it goes. I'll catch another.

Released I'm walking thru a park, sunshine and grass at my feet, a crushed velvet cherry gown against the backs of my legs. I hear children's voices singing. Over the rise of hill there's a garden by a stream. A couple adults stand among the preschoolers. Their small voices, a little out of time with another but joyful, sing chorally in Chinese. I can catch parts. An adult seems to be using the flower bed as a bar of music and the part with the line of mustard-yellow flowers is the word ship. I watch for a while, catch the rhythm and carry a few sounds under my breath as I walk on.

A depot to meet up with another hover-motorcycle. I can see friends waiting. It's a three seater. One brings the craft down to street level. Another straightens the blanket in the back and makes room for me.

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