And so begins a new journey. One that I thought I would never take. I have been blessed with many wonderful friends over my years, some stretching back into my childhood. Over distance and time, with deep appreciation and affection, all of my friends are very important to me. And yet, I have been poor in my communications. Like most folks in this day, I am so busy. Professional duties and children's schedules often predominate mine, and their busy voices sometimes drown out my own. And even my thoughts! Acceptance of this makes for a happy home, but one does need time to reflect and think. That often happens for me late at night when things are quiet.
When thoughts are my own I begin to think creatively. I tend to favor writing and music. I was reminiscing the other day about the lost art of letter writing. Since a healthy mind works much faster than the pen, handwritten letters can be so flowing and provide the writer the opportunity to delve into detail with flourish. Alas, my hands will not allow me to engage in this anymore, and it is so old school! Many of my contemporaries have blogs and have encouraged me try my hand at it, as it were. Through one old friend, I learned of the depth and passion some Xangans have for their written works. And so, over time, I began to consider joining simply for the exercise of creative writing. I periodically give speeches during the day (work!) and have lots of stories to tell. But perhaps more will develop here. I love this little poem below and it makes me think of my children and the paths they must eventually follow. Building bridges has begun to take a new meaning for me. For them, for friends -old & new, I will begin. Sometimes all it takes is a simple effort.
THE BRIDGE BUILDER
An old man traveling a lone highway,
Came at the evening cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide,
The old man crossed to the twilight dim,
The sullen stream had no fears for him,
But he turned when safe on the other side,
And builded a bridge to span the tide.
"Old man," cried a fellow pilgrim near,
"You're wasting your time in building here.
Your journey will end with the closing day;
You never again will pass this way.
You have crossed the chasm deep and wide,
Why build you this bridge at even-tide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head;
"Good friend, in the path I have come,"
he said.
"There followeth after me today,
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This stream which has been as naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may pitfall be;
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim--
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him"
--Will Allen Dromgoole--
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