Friendship, to slightly misquote Lord Byron, is love without the wings attached. It has to be worked at, but if dropped can be picked up again. It sticks around; true friends are there in the background of our lives. It's not fickle, doesn't depend on the vagaries of our hearts and is not thrust upon us by family ties.We choose our friends and they choose us. But sometimes, we loose them. Sometimes our lives move on; we move away; we make new friends and only a chance happening - a place, or a sound, or a smell, will make us stop for a moment and wonder, "What is she doing now? How has his life turned out?" Usually, unless we make an effort, the answers are as elusive as the moments that made us think the questions and we skip back into our present lives. Maybe, there's a twinge of regret; a fleeting feeling of guilt that we didn't try harder - that something about our friendship wasn't strong enough for us to keep in touch. But still we look ahead, ...
Stories and musings on life composed while walking the dog. Plus the odd rant.