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GREAT EXPECTATIONS
(a virtuoso violinist comes to town)
Saturday morning it begins:
Spring Snow blusters down Alberta Highway 4 onto U.S. I-15.
From Sweetgrass to Butte
nothing on wheels moves at more than a crawl.
I make it to town in my truck and take my seat in “The Home.”
I settle into Row 5 and look around.
Two folks sit behind to my right. Four more in the back row.
That’s it.
At 8:10 Mr. Heifitz walks to center stage.
Clutches his violin.
Taps the microphone.
Blinks twice.
Looks out and announces:
“This is kind of silly.
Why don’t you all come back to my hotel?
We’ll have a drink at the bar.”
A voice from the back shouts:
“Jascha, I drove forty miles through a blizzard to get here.
Sing something.”
Back at Jorgenson’s Inn & Suites,
we each have a toot
and vibrato fills the lobby.
Neal Whitman after a career as a teacher, is now a writer. He does not take rejection (actually he calls 'em "subjections")
personally. In the past four years, he has somehow been able to crowbar over 70 poems into more than 30 journals.
Email: Neal Whitman
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