“Are you ok?” he asked. I stood on the gravel driveway looking for a spot to move my car to. Space was at a premium. We were just told in the office that the owner of the building was having the parking lot paved. The squirrel mafia ran in and out of the dumpsters. His voice rose softly over the hood of his car. I turned. He grinned at me  Although we had never met before, I recognized him.

“Yes, thank you. Trying to decide where to park my car.” I said. He laughed.

“Me too. Do you think we will be safe over there?” he gestured to the far side of the lot. I nodded.

“Yes, should be.” We climbed into our cars and drove over, parking side by side. He smile again as he locked the doors and walked over. He smelled of morning, fresh coffee and vanilla. A gust of wind ruffled his wavy, white hair, as he adjusted his glasses before reaching out to shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you.” He paused waiting for my name.  His hands were delicate and strong.

“Leigh” I said. “It is very nice to meet you too. I work for the Orchestra.” His eyes widened.

“In the office. I no longer play. I have only been here a few weeks ” I explained. We started to walk back towards the building. His seemed to bubble as he walked. Still smiling and light like the first notes of an aria.

“Ah I see. I just started working here again as well. Helping the Orchestra.” We reached the door and I held the door for him.

“After you Maestro.” I said. It wasn’t every day you have the chance to hold the door for Uri Mayer. He chuckled and insisted I step through first.


letter on the path


Letter on the path


We took a well-worn dirt path into the park, instead of driving down the steep hill.  Purple and white phlox bloomed in the meadow around the first bend. Like paint spilling from an overturned bucket, the flowers rushed to the edge of the tree line and trickled through the dark tree trunks. I spotted the letter when the path turned again towards the park. It was wedged in a hollowed out tree. The girls ran ahead as I unfolded the paper. I read the words written in black ink.

Your eyes. Stars without beginning or end.

I love you.  


I reread the note. A black squirrel ran across the path, chittering as he ran by me. A blue heron flew overhead. His wings rustled with each flap in the wind. I folded the paper and tucked it in my pocket. The words hung like dew on spider silk. I zipped the pocket shut and hurried to catch up with the others.