(100 epilogue: the last-last lost man chronicle)
in this time of resolutions I pensively watch the snow fall outside my window. Toumani Diabate and Ballake Sissoko play Bi Lamba for me as if they are watching the flakes fall too. the synchronized performance of this West African duo of ancient strings and wintery white dropping here on the corner of Achung and Hawthorne Avenues is mesmerizing, and moves me to write, to memorialize what might become one of the most beautiful moments of my time.
three weeks of vacation are all but two days away, and i write today knowing they will likely be spent mainly-mostly warm at home.
i've decided that this will be the time for me to hone my craft, to reflect upon this year of chronicles that laugh and revel and smile and cry. and i hope that I, and they, have inspired others to do much the same.
now it is time for me to choose. to select all those which will make the difference. for i now know—my time is now.
now is the time to move on into the life my words have prepared me for. where my words will carry me everywhere i've long yearned to go. for now i know, now i know.
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l.m