Mirage

it happened somewhere in the third quarter of the last half some place between the shouts of the crowd and the blaring announcements sputtering, across outdated equipment, forty years if a day. falling around ears that didn't appear to be listening at least not on the row where they sat, quietly sober melancholy. with faces that at times appeared to gleam in the bright sunlight there in the midst around the riotous uproar for the home team. point advantage, inside that pandemonium central verbal pyrotechnics flying everywhere but there on that row, where the silent visitors sat what happened to those three who seemed so out of place among the beer swilling crowd, slap happy attendees serene looks in the midst of great fun and hilarity, and yet they remained. steadfast piercing the eye of a storm, solemn unflinching I turned around for one more glance and to my surprise they were gone, as if they never were. a feather landed softly across my lap, and I wondered...