Stanley Noah Backward, Turn Backward Quiet in this square, stained wall-paper room, haunting low-toned mirror and slow moving music dancing out the short ban radio. My mind seem easily to walk backwards the steps of years. Then profoundly
reality is repeating my personal history I lived through with so many persons. their faces, voices, events like a movie. I do not need to meet them as they are today. Some memories are sacred like fresh linen folded and put away like rivers to the sea like beach bone-dried sea shells waiting for generations to be collected. Remembered for what they were, and went like stamps on letters, traveled.