Lydia and I went for a walk yesterday on the small roads near her farm. We were quiet. It was simple, ordinary, lovely.

We’re coming up on the one-year anniversary of Jo’s death – her husband and my friend. I decided to let Lydia take the lead in our conversation.

We talked about the crops planted nearby. The wide open spaces of her home. Smiles about the people in our lives. Jo was with us, just not in our words.

There is a peace in two friends walking in silence. No expectation of profound thoughts expressed. Happy in the warmth.

It was a long walk. I was getting tired on the rolling roads. I didn’t expect that would happen, and I was sad about becoming older. Once, after a nice sit on a tussock of grass, Lydia offered to help me up.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Bruce …”

I gave in, with a tiny nod. There was a sweetness in the weakness, an admission that things are slowing down. I felt a part of all the human lives that play out across the globe. All was well.

At one point, Lydia asked me what was the happiest moment of my life. What came was a 20-year-old man reaching the peak of Mount Lineham in Waterton Lakes National Park. Oh … the vista of snowy peaks that surrounded me!

Lydia’s moment was giving birth to her son Baziel while singing Dos Gardenias.

And the quiet returned …

Comfy

Together