Post-Mortem

The hint, the barest hint, like an emerald tassel of aurora borealis over Orient Point, Long Island, really the mere suggestion (and the concomitant suspicion that it's all in one's head) -- wishful thinking, even -- of something, someone, extraordinary, peripheral vermillion amid the stars, just . . . maybe.

There is magic in sitting across a table from someone about whom one's predominant thought is: She's out of my league. And there is simplicity in it, too.