Riffle

The rain washed sunlight pulls us forward along the newly greened path and the dark night of rain and hard rememberance is receding into the past. Our conversation moves forward and backward in time, pausing on the present to comment on the beauty of the chert outcroppings lining this stream cut valley and the sense of stillness counterpointed by the soft burbling of the stream.

I flirt with the white butterflies, at peace enough not to tell Corky and Henry their significance to me. They flit and flutter and play around me and then suddenly disappear as one, their small message delivered. I laugh to myself and then jump back into the moment.

Another miracle has happened this weekend. We have done the normal guy thing of drinking and eating too much, and we have insulted each other and wisecracked and laughed endlessly, but we have also shared our deepest stories - shared them without thought of protecting ourselves. The level of trust given and received seems boundless, and I feel so utterly rewarded by my friendship with these two.

What a special time! There isn't any reason to expect it won't happen again, and that in itself is a wonderful thing.

I have little fear of my future. Changes are in store but I know I have friends I can trust and rely on, and this peace I feel inside seems to grow a little every day.

How are the rest of you doing? Is anyone else finding miracles?