Sunday Scribblings: Fellow Travelor

I met him in a bar. And what started out "just for fun" became serious, and then disastrous, and then ... well, then we became friends, like Harry and Sally.

For a long time I would see him, or hear from him, once or twice a year. We would meet, hike, do a day trip, have dinner together. Then he would disappear again.

It was okay. He was not meant to be a caged bird.

But he hasn't called in a couple of years, and when I realise that, as I did today, I pray for him... I pray that the fates have been kind, and he is doing all right.

Today, to honor him, I tuned to KSLX and listened to old rock. I sang along and remembered the joy I found in lyrics and in miles of dirt roads we traversed. He told me once to not let them pave the roads. He was all for freedom and open spaces.

He changed me. He gave me the mountains and the wind whistling through the pine trees near Christopher Creek. He showed me where the Indians of the past built their homes and how to see pottery pieces scattered on the ground. He gave me a wild love of open spaces, and deep conversations that lasted throughout the night.

I must have given him something, too, since he hung around for so long. Maybe space. Maybe honesty. Maybe just an ear.

We traveled the same road for a while... and then for a time our paths would cross occasionally. Now we are headed in different directions... and that is just how it should be, too.