After ten years we recommence,
old friends together again,
Picking right up where last we
left off. Laughing and endlessly
talking, swapping animated stories,
remembering and emotionally
embracing.

Few friendships endure for
decades, this one formed by
two men, one from America,
the other from Down Under,
men more alike than not,
comrades at nearly first site
50 years ago, now grown
old and grey in these twilight
years.

Visit over, parting now with
mixed emotions of happiness
and sincere sorrow, even a tear
or two, sensing the inescapable
reality that we may never meet
again. That life is truly a fleeting
thing.

Adieu and thanks for coming
old friend! My love to you and
your sweet wife Janet. It was
great having you both here.

"I see you there, I would know you anywhere.
(Both smile and laugh)
You have changed very little. Care to Dance?
(She takes his hand, and they go arm and arm.
On the dance floor they closely embrace and
it seems familiar.)

"Your perfume or maybe that is just your
scent, brings back pleasant fond memories
of you and me parked out on the bluff
in my '58 Chevy, just two kids in love
kissing 'till our lips hurt. Though a little
time worn around the edges, we still move
well together". (They laugh.)

(Close to her ear he whispers)
"I hope your life has been good, that you're happy.
That you lived some of the dreams you had back
then. My own memories are flowing, I suppose that's
what reunions are about, this is my first one, a bit
remiss, I guess, plus living 700 miles distant.

We were good together back then, wow, 60 years
ago, father time is an elusive fleeting old thief,
steals our youth and gives us grey hair and
wrinkles in return, not even a fair trade."

(Entwined they slow dance to the oldies for
an hour, neither wanting to let go caught up
in the mood. He looks into her eyes and says)

"I must admit my feet hurt; can I buy you a cold
drink while we sit, perhaps you will catch me up
on your Life's adventures since 1963?"
(She smiles and nods her approval, kissing him
lightly on his cheek.)

The first time I saw the ocean
I was transfixed, caught like a
fish on a hook, or a newborn
baby first viewing its mother.
Enraptured and forever
emotionally captured.

For over 75 years the irresistible
pull and power of the sea does
still inspire and enchant me.
This is a purely one-sided affair,
as the vast oceans pays to me, or
any human no attention whatsoever.

Dads are people sons never
forget, for good or bad and
when the son is gone there
is no one to remember the
father. Say for some fading
black and white photos in a
scrap book: "That was your
great grandfather. He fought
in the war. People called him
Bud, but his real name was
Wyett with an E. He taught
me to cast a fly in a mountain
stream and tune the engine
in my first car, and not to lie."

My grandsons almost grown
are good and loving chaps, but
never ask me about their Great
Grandfather. Out of sight, out of
mind, I guess. Maybe I am the last
to remember or care. Our touchstones
to the past are frail at best.

When examined, and embraced
aloneness is not a punishment,
rather it is an earned pleasure
to foster and savor.

From the outside in daylight my
large front porch windows are
nearly as reflective as mirrors.
Birds often mistake them for
open space fly zones.

Today I watched in horror as a
stalwart resolute Towhee fell for
the visual illusion, flying full tilt
into the window, impacting,
bouncing recoiling, reversing
and then trying it yet again!

The second impact bounced him
out onto the lawn, where he laid
stunned, feet pointing to the sky
for perhaps a minute.

I watched helplessly as eventually
he struggled to rise, then into the air
he drunkenly took wing, away from
the porch, turned and flew directly
back onto his delusion of freedoms
space. The sound of the impact
sickened me.

One minute alive the next he lay
dead on the stone porch. A victim
of his instinctive inherit perseverance
for freedom.

We humans; perhaps all living creatures
are not so different than this little bird,
our innate instincts can and often do lead
us down the wrong paths, even to bad
endings. I buried the little downed flyer
beneath my favorite Birch tree in my
garden.

How long has it been since
I had ***, I mean of course
with another person?
You know two consenting
warm bodies embracing,
deep wet kisses, real human
longing, affection rendered.
Forever it seems, relegated
now to indistinct night dreams
and long life ago memories
viewed as if projected like
pale untouchable shadows
on an indistinct grey wall.
There, but not there.

What is love and life but
lingering vague whispers
in a night of dwindling light.
Lasting only as long as our
conscious memories allow.