a long draw drags the stars within touching distance; they tickle.
the Bedouin rugs stagger their way around the tent walls,
circling a few times before stopping to rest in a drowsy configuration.
behind the haze are human silhouettes; they stopped moving eons ago,
but provide wonderful conversation.
a slow draw sends him into deep conversation about nothing much at all
the colour-coded cushions perform a juggling act and settle on a
4-2-3-1 formation,
which does not stand up to attack by laughter.
the air turns slippery and the cushions morph into Bedouin-flavoured
marshmallows.
the night provides a gentle hum, and no-one is quite sure when Time
slipped out of the tent.
The Shisha Pipe: I get it now.
very relaxing hugs and love from the Sinai
joe
