Act Two, Scene Two : from seemingly nowhere

yesterday's bus trip started at two in the morning, very tired but restless, an aisle seat. and it dragged: all in all a fifteen hour journey, some of it on a minibus where my head brushed the ceiling, and too hot.

but now i am here at sundance eco-preserve outside tikirova, overlooked by a mountain and on the stony shore of the mediterranean sea.

there are six people here my age, three couples. there are eleven cats. there are horses. there are cacti. there are little birds so small that if they land in the grass you lose them, and they fly in and out of the trees in big flocks.

i hear crickets. i hear frogs. i hear water.

feeling: that this is like the hostel on vancouver island with the little kitchen where i met sara, the girl i did not kiss. she took my hand as we wandered after dark past cafes with posters in the windows, blurred photos of a local songwriter singing her heart out in a tourist town. sara wore a black hoodie and a little black tanktop underneath and black corduroy pants that picked up the fine white sand when we went to sit by the water. and she took a purple flower from me that i'd picked up and carried it all the way down to the beach, and when we stopped she attached it to a tress of her hair with quick fingers and a black elastic she made appear from seemingly nowhere. and when she drew pictures of herself she darkened under the eyes.

she lives in jerusalem. i have not heard from her. it's after dark now. it's pretty here.