Can’t Find My Friend

Can’t find my friend – lately,

You’d remember him…hard to forget, just the pleasantest of guys’; he is one of the very few souls that enjoys not talking over coffee – no person has enjoyed the sound of their own voice less ; in the pursuit obscure galleries he takes almost singular delight – wherein could be heard at least once, oft repeated one of two mantras: at the beginning or middle of a walk around he will find something and freeze and then moving like a mastodon during a slow thaw he would circle the piece, studying it, oh so carefully, lovingly…and as a result; stumbling over all manner of nonsense right in front of him- I’ve yet to comprehend how he walked around that painting…it was hanging on a wall…

He enjoys what makes me happy…he just enjoys.

I’ve run into him in the very early hours – sitting in the sand of an empty beach, his long surf rod set in it’s holder, his eyes would be fixed on the tip – lit by what ever moon was available – watching it’s dip and pull, that motion generated where sea, shore, and wind come together and there is nothing alive on the end of that line. On just such an occasion I had noticed that his bait pail had been- well – empty.

Like mine – on that particular occasion.

He hasn’t been there – no…not lately.

I thought perhaps – maybe – if I return to all the old places I’d come across him again; and we’ll laugh about needing props on the beach to just sit and watch the light on the water.

Not that long ago, I was sure I caught a glimpse of him; it was in that little bistro, off S. Detroit and Main, he was looking over his own cup a mud when the image was lost as one line or another of bodies, faces lost to the glow of the tiny screen before them. Hoping to greet an old friend, I did take up my coffee and walk in his direction…to find – it was but a mirror, and the face I was looking at was someone else – someone else indeed.

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