(The photo is my youngest son, walking through the forest on a camping trip, humming to himself. Happy.)
The Journey . . .
The paths our lives take often lead us to lose touch with the people who mean the most,
Through distance, time, or death, our paths fracture and split, till the way back home seems all but lost.
The trail of bread crumbs has been eaten by the birds of the forest.
The ones in our youth who listened, who stuck by us,
and understood, without the need for words.
Who could finish our sentences, even our thoughts...
Where have they gone?
Like wind swept tracks in the sand, their impression seems to have slipped away,
The mere echo of a memory, so faint now we begin to doubt its sound.
Yet if we listen closely, they are everywhere.
In the lilt of this one’s speech pattern, the crook of another’s jaw
Even in the way we react to a certain type of joke, or continue to savor that spoonful of macaroni and cheese on our otherwise gourmet palate.
They are in the youthful glimmer that appears suddenly in our eye from time to time, then disappears with equal quickness, for no reason any one else could possibly know.
And if we are lucky enough to meet them again, it will feel as if we simply picked up the conversation from where we left off, moments ago. it feels as if they never left, just picked our feet up out of the river and tucked them on the side of the bank to reflect for a little while.
And we discover that their memories help complete our own. And the glimmer becomes a steady glow.
For the old friend never really left our side, they became it. An inextricable part of who we are and what we have experienced, influencing the journey of our lives in ways we can’t possibly imagine.
The return to you has been a return to me, it is a coming home to who I was and have remained somewhere, deep down inside, back before our innocence was lost in the forest of life.
Thanks for listening. Take care, -Jules
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