Earlier this evening, I sat on the bench on our front yard porch & pulled obnoxious tiny trees threatening my hibiscus & Mexican petunias out of the ground.
I saw two young people walking across the street. They paused while she went through his hair, both laughing. Then they kissed, joined hands & kept on walking
.
Later I went out to check the sprinkler & the same couple was returning from wherever they had been headed, still holding hands & laughing. They paused for a moment, kissed & then kept on walking, hands & laughter & the moment interlocked.
And I thought about love & what it means when one is very young. About that first kiss, that first moment when it is enough to just hold hands & talk & laugh.
And about later, when somehow things get complicated & it is no longer just enough to talk & laugh & share a kiss while walking down the street.
I have no illusions that life or love is as ever as simple as it is in memory.
And I have no regrets – I remember every man in my life with fondness. And with each one, I can recall a wonderful moment just talking & laughing & sharing a moment.
Love, at any age, is not a state of being. It is a choice, an action, a process. Love is a dynamic, living force. It challenges us, it requires of us, it soothes & comforts us, it inspires us to be everything we should be.
It does not always end with the end of a friendship or a relationship or a marriage or a life.
In this evening of the day, I needed to remember that as I grieve for the loss of my friend Barry Morrison. A good man. A good friend.
As tears go by . . .
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