Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Book of friendship

On the plane ride home, in the seat pocket in front of me, I pick up a magazine.  On the front cover it says “3 perfect days in Istanbul”.  Inside, there is a nice house, overlooking a wooded area.  The house has a beautiful swimming pool, and a lovely lady diving in the water.  But she is all alone.  I think they missed the point.

My three perfect days in Spokane were spent in the exact opposite of alone, with my childhood friend and his family.  What made it perfect?

Watching, together,
the sun change the hues on a mountain range miles away as it warmed our bare toes;
the breeze caressing the golden wheat on a hill that leaned against a deep blue sky;
the moon rising slowly between two tall pines on a cloudless night;
nature, absolutely silent, awaiting sunrise;

our white long-haired dog, sleeping in the shade, on green, green grass;
tomatoes from the garden, just picked, sliced thick on white china;
homemade scones late at night, with hot tea, under Orion’s Belt;
four games of  two-on-two volley ball with ‘commercial breaks’, laughing while someone looks for the stray ball in the tall grass;

hawks circling slowly;
our lives unhurriedly shared;
adding a page of memories to our 35 year old book of friendship. 

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