tumbleworld

So many friends, lost in life's whorls and eddies.
So many places.
I've blown around like tumbleweed.
Hither and thither, chasing dreams and butterflies and wonders.
Uprooted a dozen times or more.
Everything left behind.
Moved world.
So many friends.
And colleagues, lovers, soul-friends I'd have died for.
Ones that got away.
The past is wild, as full of ghosts as gold.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
Auld Lang Syne is dangerous territory.
So many places.
Memory builds slowly -- snow drifting against a cracked cellar window.
Pressing in.
Sometimes it's best to ask the Demons round for drinks, before they take matters into their own hands.
So many friends.
So many ghosts.
So, my ghosts, wherever you are, a toast:
To those lives in which I didn't lose you.
Long may they shine.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"