Almost Light
The overgrown rail track is dry and withered, the trapped dust chokes and the sleepers have restless days. Khaki weed a foot high grows between the rail tracks and Never-Let-You Go branches tack onto old trees. He sees her from his window overlooking the disused track and wonders what she is doing here so early in the morn between the rusting tracks. His eyes follow her as she stretches her body before the rising sun, almost worshipping the warmth. Her blue jeans fit snugly and the T shirt top hangs loosely over her bosom and lithe body. She appears to be swaying like a rudderless sailor and her striped blue and white sneakers beg to tap out repeated dance routines. Throwing her head back, shrugs her shoulders, tosses long yellow tresses then swirls and turns to nearby branches crackling and hissing in the tormenting early morn. He lives in this dark room above the tracks with seven other dancers from the New York Ballet and N.Y. Export Opus Jazz. His shirt glows red as he taps out beats from the loud playing gramophone his only true possession from his Harlem days.The music is loud and vibrates along the train track. Slowly he descends the iron steps in rhythm to the music. She continues to sway and kick her legs high into the air. Her arms trace patterns of Milky Ways. He stealthily approaches her as she carries on her dance ritual in a trance. He tightens his jeans and ties the laces of his ballet shoes then falls into perfect steps with her. They cascade and float along the overgrown and stony track as she bows and arches her back; he leans full forward spins on his toes gently following her lead.
They dance and dance until the music fades. Like an elf spirit she vapors away along the iron track as he returns home slowly ascending the spiral steel staircase. He replays the long playing record, slowly sways to the window and watches her disappear in the dawn. The echoes in both their ears are the cry and persistent howling whistle blast of an approaching train that never shows.
