Wednesday, July 02, 2014

A separation

July has dawned, lush and steamy. The loss of another friend has marked me again, like a tree has rings to mark its age.

When I am a hundred, how many rings will I have?

This loss, as it were, is perhaps not a loss at all. It is merely a smudging away, the beginning of the gradual fade that happens as each year passes.

And the rain each night.

Oh well. If the world is indeed round, I shall keep traveling. We will meet again, if you promise to stay where you are.

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