Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golden living, dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation And the mind's true liberation
Aquarius!

Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In from Hair (James Rado and Gerome Ragni)


The finest sunset he could remember had been in Morocco. Sitting high in the Atlas Mountains, looking west toward a storm forming on the coast, the colour blasted the sky all around. He'd sat for a good hour until he felt the chill, then turned back to his tent, for food and sleep. Over the years, he recalled it, this gorgeous spill of salmon and peach and blood. It was a masterpiece worthy of the gods alone, perhaps a Turner could paint it, but he preferred the perfect memory of it rather than hope to see it on canvas.


This sunset was not going to be as grand. Sure, it flashed from the windows and coloured the coldness of the concrete, but it lacked grandeur and depth. It warmed the distant sky but not the spirit. It was cooler now, and I was hungry. It had been a busy day, trekking across to the zoo. Spending hours looking for the frogs by the waterfowl enclosures, rejoicing when I found them. Watching the wonder of discovery in the faces of children, and occasionally adults. Now I was taking the train back to Manhattan, being rocked to sleep by the motion. If I closed my eyes and imagined, I was on a boat at sea.

I preferred the surface trains to the subway, because sometimes I get to look down into the streets with their markets and shops and cafés, alive with the people who were the blood corpuscles of the city. Most of them coming back from work now, they brought the energy that was money, to pump it into the muscle that was commerce.

There were days it made me sad, watching them hustling and struggling to survive, each of them a son, a daughter, a father, mother, sibling, lover. In the whole organism that was the city, they were nonetheless individuals, each important in their own lives. Sometimes they glowed with the joy of achievement, sometimes under the pressure of a Sisyphean burden. Every day some of them would blink out, every day a new ones would light up.

However today was a day for me to notice their joy. The couple with new-hatched love, hand in hand and replete with discovering glances. The father with his daughter, taking pleasure in her skipping, the woman with her pregnant, hopeful glow. In the train too, people seemed to have a lightness about them (was it the colour of the sunset, did that warmth reach into them?) I started to think about where to have supper, and what I should plan for tomorrow, and continued my slow scan of my fellow passengers.

In any bus or train carriage, any café or bar, there's always one that stands out. For whatever reason, some people just fail to blend in. It might be their garb, it might be that they aren't buried in book or Facebook, it might be some animation or ebullience. This woman was just fey, dressed like a tree, wreathed in green. Like the couple I saw earlier she was dressed out of time. She even had woollen stockings, actual old-fashioned stockings with good sturdily made brown leather shoes that bridged the gap between pragmatic and elegant. Brass aglets, polished. Colourful scarves, silk trying to hide necklace chains. She too was observing the people in the street, and watching those alighting and disembarking. Of course she caught my eye. Caught my eye and then smiled. Suddenly she stopped looking thirty-something; she was a little girl, impish and curious. She had brown eyes flashed with copper, made keener by the fading dusk light. She practically radiated, and she had radiated at me.

Of course in such circumstances one is taken aback. This is New York, this is the big anonymous and private city, in which you do your best to not draw attention to yourself. And to be clear, I am a master of hiding in plain sight, it's a gift I have always had and a skill I consider perfected. Almost no-one ever notices me, not if I don't want to be noticed. Children were more likely to notice me for some reason I could never fathom, and of course would engage me with smiles; I'd learned to smile back. Nonetheless she saw me and I couldn't not notice, couldn't ignore her.

I smiled back then, as at a child. She was almost directly opposite me, but now partly obscured by a new standee. She leant back in her seat to continue her inspection of me. By now we were crossing the river; if I was to satisfy my curiosity about this woman, I had to act soon. I pulled up all my charm, leaned forward and mimed eating. She nodded, looked at the map and held up three fingers. Grand Central? Deal. I gave a thumbs-up and hoped she wasn't of Greek stock. No, no she wasn't. Too fair.


Time telescoped. We were there. She stood, slung her messenger bag around to her front and hugged it. She looked back at me through the throng and smiled again as she shuffled and pushed gently through the crowd. Once on the platform, she walked out of the way of the other passengers and waited for me. I approached her, stood at a distance. I honestly didn't know how to proceed from here. In my experience this just didn't happen in New York.

"Benjamin", I said, holding out my hand.

"Keziah", she said, and didn't. "I fancy pizza. You're buying." This was clearly a statement, not a question. I immediately thought of Prova Pizza, on the dining concourse. It would be busy, but I was sure I'd manage.

"Of course. A woman of taste."

I was amused that she hadn't shaken my hand, but as I keep reminding myself, this is New York.

"Let's head to Prova", I said, heading for the escalator. "Best pizza nearby."

I could feel her watching me as we rode up, and when we started walking along the concourse she moved alongside, keeping cadence. Without glancing at me, she suddenly said "You're wondering 'Why me?', right?"

I looked at her, nodded.

"I'm psychic. I was watching you since I got on the train." Now she looked at me, eyes as round as an anime schoolgirl's. "Do you believe in psychics?"

"What sort of a psychic are you?"

"I can read things, tell what sort of people they are. Some call it 'aura reading', but it's more like I can read people's intentions."

"So a soul reader?" I asked, and she laughed, a sound like real reindeer bells.

"If you like. so you do believe."

"I believe the sun will come up tomorrow. I believe there's a lot that people don't understand. I believe that everyone has different abilities, skills." It's not often that I have to search for a word, but I didn't want to appear hesitant. "Talents, that's the word I needed."

We got to Prova, and it was busy. There was quite the queue when we got there, and I was suddenly hungrier than ever. I thought about a table. I thought hard about how long the line was and how long the day had been. Two groups in front of us started grumbling about the wait, so I thought about that. They left. Then the two people in front of us left. Amazingly enough we were almost at the front. Keziah watched the events and shot me a look.

"How did you do that?"

I looked at her. "I didn't do anything. People are impatient."

"I don't believe you."

I shrugged. "Call it a talent, then."

Now we were at the front of the line. She ordered a Vegetarian, I ordered a Chicken Piccata, and we sat down.

"Okay, why me?" I asked.

"Because you're honest, and I see no harm in you."

"You put a lot of trust in your soul reading, I feel. I don't see how you can tell that just by looking at someone."

"Like I said, I'm psychic."

"So, Keziah, tell me something about me."

She looked me up and down, everything from my hair and face down to my shoes. Her gaze was careful, intent. "Well, you're not from around here. You don't quite fit in the City. As I said, you seem very open. You're interested in people, you're curious and you've travelled. A lot. You've been to a lot of places."

"You're right. So, where am I from, then?" I looked into those copper-brown eyes again.

She felt for the necklace hidden under her scarf, and her brow furrowed. "Your accent is vaguely British? But you're not British. European, maybe. But I think you've been travelling so long that you're from many places. I can't quite work that out yet. Give me time." She smiled, and the air felt lighter.

I looked hard at her. She was certainly a puzzle. "You're close, and you're right about my travelling. I've moved around a lot."

"You're not very good with small talk, are you?" she asked.

I had to laugh, not only was she right, she was either truly pyschic or very insightful; I had just had the same thought. I'm not very good with small talk. With all my practice you'd think I would be. But the fact that it's of little consequence means I tend not to put a lot of energy into it.


The food was delivered, saving me from having to answer the question, no matter how obvious and easy the answer. Keziah thanked the server and tucked into her pizza. It looked good. My chicken was excellent. I thought about offering some to her, then thought better of it. I didn't want to poke at her, nor to offend her. Then I changed my mind.

"Would you like to try some of this?" I asked, gesturing to my plate.

"I would love to!" she said. She picked up a fork, took a good chunk and held it to her face, opening her mouth to smell it as a cat would. She chewed it, clearly savouring every morsel. She smiled, nodded and gestured to her own plate. I cut a small piece and ate it.

"Thank you", I said, and smiled at her. "Good flavours, very fresh. Up to their standards."

We ate the remainder of the meal in silence, each of us looking around at the other diners and occasionally catching one another's gaze. Eventually we finished, and began to walk back to the concourse.

"I have no idea why I did this", I said to her. "I'm not normally given to taking complete strangers for meals."

"I'm glad you did. Thank you." She hesitated for a moment, then stopped. "Perhaps we could go for a drink."

Now it was my turn to hesitate. I was really caught off guard by this whole event, but equally curious about this woman, why she'd latched on to me and why I was fascinated. I decided to go for broke.

"I'd love to", I said. "Where are you headed after this?"

"The Bronx. You?"

"Times Square. Well, West 45th and 8th."

"So, drinks there? Or on the way?" She gave me an arch look.

"It's your choice. I mean, I'm not trying to hustle you into bed, but I have a good drink selection at home and it's more comfortable than any bar I know."

"It's a deal. Is it fancy?"

"Yes, you'd probably call it fancy."

"Good. My place is not. You must have some money to live there. What do you do?"

"I'm retired."

"You must have had a good living. What did you do?"

"Real estate and investment." It was as close to the truth as I could make it. "And you, what do you do?"

She laughed, again with that jingling, "I work in tech. Systems admin. It's dull but it pays the bills."

"And you're a New Yorker?" I didn't have to cheat, it was in her accent, Brooklyn all over.

"Yep. Brooklyn born and raised. My father always said that we'd live and die there."

"Is that why you got out? Didn't want to die in Brooklyn?"

"No," she laughed, "I went to college in the Bronx, it was just easier to stay there after I graduated. We hadn't settled where you're from. You've practically had my life history now."

"My family is Middle Eastern from way back. Slowly moved west, ended up in Northern Europe. Came to America."

"Your parents here too?" She tipped her head to one side. Now she was probing harder.

"I'm the only one here." Again, it was as close to the truth as I could get.

"I knew it! So you came here by yourself?"

"I needed adventure, so yes."

Now we were walking past Fifth Avenue again, and I glanced down toward the library. "You want to walk through the park?"

"There's a park? It beats cars."

"In that case, we'll cross here,", I said. With that, she hooked her arm around mine and stopped at the corner.

"I had a good feeling about today," she said, letting go of me. "When I got up I had the feeling there'd be something new."

Now I laughed. "I'm hardly 'new'!"

"New enough for me," she said, and the lights changed.

We walked around the back of the library. Bryant Park isn't big, not Central Park big. But it's green and it's peaceful. Even though the traffic may be busy on the streets, the trees do a good job of reducing the noise. During the day it can be full of students, researchers, workers and tourists. But in the evening, it's less busy, people are here with intent. Some of them can be a little sketchy, but not tonight. Tonight it felt safe, secure and above all, quiet.

"It's amazing how much the vegetation masks the noise," she said as we walked onto the grass. "This must have been beautiful before we built all over it."

"Funny, I was thinking that just this morning," I said, "that there was a time when it was all nature, not concrete. Now we have to go out of our way to find trees."

She suddenly sat down on the grass. It was cooler now that the sun was set. She pulled her jacket tighter, fluffed her scarf up, shivered a little. She looked up, patted the grass next to her. I dutifully sat, stretched my legs out, leant back. A few stars glimmered. I noticed her necklace again, small crystals catching the very last of the light and glowing.

"My girlfriend used to hate sitting on the grass," she said, digging her fingers into the ground. "It was one of the reasons why we split up."

She looked over at me. Was she looking for a boomer reaction? Did she expect me to be upset, mortified, morally offended? No, I decided. She was just being open.

"It's important to share interests," I said. "Common ground with just a hint of things to challenge, like books or films. Or music."

"You read a lot of books?" She looked across at me again. And again, those eyes.

"I live in an apartment-shaped library." I chuckled. "As you may find out later."

"My grandfather owned a bookstore," she said, "I was surrounded by books from childhood on. I practically lived in his store when school was out."

"I've always had an interest. Mostly not fiction, though I do read some now and again."

"I'm the other way. I like to open my imagination, spread the wings of my mind, let it fly free!" She looked at the crows flying in the trees, pointed at them. "One of the reasons I like birds is that they love to fly the way I like to read."

She lay back on the grass, held her arms out and closed her eyes. She waggled her wrists and hands, brushed my jacket with a fingertip. I could tell she was feeling flight. For my part I was puzzled how I got to this point, and what her interest was with me. I'm normally given to observation, not interaction. I'm a watcher, not a talker. It was as though she'd cast a spell and I was caught up in it. If she was truly the psychic she seemed to be, this could be dangerous. I'd invited her to my home and I was beginning to wonder exactly what I had invited.

With that thought still in my mind, I reached down and took her hand, shook it gently. "We should go, it's getting cold!" I said, tugging gently and getting up.

She laughed up at me. "Pull me up!" she said. So I stood, still holding her hand, then helped her up. She was light, hummingbird-light. "Take me home", she said with those eyes flashing again with inner laughter.

So we went. Holding hands all the way.




Thanks to JD for pointing out that the lyric was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni. The single was released by The 5th Dimension later.


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