You

Hey you. Yes you. I’m talking to you. Don’t turn around and make furtive glances, acting as if I may be addressing someone else. There are very few visitors to this place who make visitations without leaving a visiting card. And besides, I heard your tip toe on the carpet trying to read in stealth (you have nice toes, by the way; I’ve told you that before). I have a couple of things to say. One, I miss you. You’ve rarely been away when the shitake hit the Kawasaki, but as I’m beginning to learn, oceans are hard to traverse, good times or bad, despite all good intentions. Oh, and that’s another thing. I’ve forgotten to say thank you. It’s been many years since you threatened me with glitter glue, and searched for gold dust (potentially toxic, I’m sure) with me in petty streams. And I’m still waiting on that novel you said you were writing. If nothing else, at least start a blog! It will give us both an equal chance to stare at each other’s self indulgence with well-meant voyeurism. But I digress. I was thanking you when I started rambling (characteristic, don’t you think?). Yes, thanks. However far or near we’ve been, or however long the silences, talking to you has a singular comfort. The good thing about bad times is that they serve, if nothing else, to remind me how much of my thanks I owe you. Anyway… till next time, which won’t be too far away. Before you know it I’ll be knocking at your gate at seven a.m. for another morning walk.