Friends

Friends. Friends? Friends! We have some who stand the tests. Who endure. I once thought my friends from youth would surround me in old age, not knowing how they would molt, like snakeskin, or how few would, in the end, survive the challenges life hurls at us and we hurl to save or sink ourselves. I used to think that one could judge a person by how many old friends they surrounded themselves with, but by that standard I have not done as well as I had hoped and expected. Instead, my oldest friends are institutional acquaintances. People who I intersect with from school and college, or a summer community. People that I have socialized with, but never been much closer to than arms' length. Old loves, generally lost. The ones I am curious about? It seems prudent to let their memories flourish without present refreshing. Which means, I guess, that I'll be living in my head entirely before long. A few of them have died, these were rare people, ones who had once wrapped themselves around me and cried out love. How many have I loved and left, now forgotten? There are a few. My old male friends: where are they now? Mostly scattered in the wind. Where are my family? Scattered, too. My father left. One uncle. A sick and unhealthy brother. One 'friend' who cannot see the difference between her money and our friendship. It's time to molt, not moulder. To move along, not wax sentimental. Our eyes are built into the front of our heads for a reason. We look forward. Our friends are those who are with us now. There is no need to carry dead weight into hoary age.

April in the Afternoon

A fine day. Windy, wild, warm and wet. It's also grey, like fog, only not. You can imagine the noise of the plant kingdom, stirring with the spring. Already there are daffodils and the crocuses have been out for nearly a month by now. Tumescent magnolia buds and the increasingly evident red canopy of maple trees on the street reveal further evidence. Soon enough the sun will shine, the matted lawn will green and require mowing, and the robins will tilt their heads to eye their earthy prey as it emerges from beneath the frost line, thawed for another year. It is a very fine time of year. The promise of longer, warmer days. Of sweet scented flowers. Of less clothes. Of water blue and sun-filled golden hues.