A morning rushing to night

A Lebanese morning rushed into its final night.

Brigitte's Blog

An Homage to a Lebanese Icon we just lost…

Her name is ‘Sabah’. Morning. When I hear her name I remember a river, my dad with his then black mustaches, ducks floating idly by waiting for us kids to throw peanuts at them, small hotdogs, tabbouleh-our ageless Lebanese parsley-based salad. I remember trees, green lush poplar trees with thick trunks that must still have our carved initials. I also know it’s a Sunday. We always went to Kfarhelda in the hills of North Lebanon on Sundays. To a restaurant by a river. We travelled in several cars, coming from many directions, we met there. I loved how the summer Sunday trips were the highlight of our lives as kids. Lebanon was innocent then, or so it seemed. Sunday outings with family and friends and their kids. Swings, we were always fighting over the swings to push each other so hard…

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One Response to A morning rushing to night

  1. Patsy Locke says:

    So sorry… Those magical sounds and sights that bring childhood memories back are so precious. We all have a yearning for those more innocent times when we didn’t have to know the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of everything. Her music will always be in your heart, and all those who listened and treasured her music and it’s place in their history. Rest in peace, Sabah…

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