We were out with a very old friend.
No, she is not particularly old, I mean, no older than my wife and I. It’s just we were all friends from long ago. And we walked on a perfectly beautiful Summer’s night in St. Minneapolis, clear around a lake. The boats were beautiful in it, reflected like a picture from Portugal, in the low flat water. A turtle crossed the path slowly. There was an enormous raven. There were ducks with small babies already paddling beautifully. We kept going on our long walk until we were all sort of hobbling with our own personal ailments. We are old friends after all.
We sat talking into the night. We reminisced about things we all remembered different pieces of. Then we drove her to her hotel across from a tangle of construction and a lit up Cathedral. Tall buildings surrounded us and, though it was night, one of these was wrapped with screens at the top that showed clouds in a blue sky. I got kind of excited seeing the buildings close up that I can right now turn and see out my window.
We haven’t been out much for awhile.
There is a kind of joy in not missing anything from the past.