Saturday found me attending a memorial reception for a friend. On the drive out I sang loudly to all the MP3s my car delivered.
(I'll have to make that drive again, explore the grounds when there is light and time.)
I was one of the very few attendees who was only a friend, and not family as well.
When I left, about 8pm, rather earlier than most, I stood for a while in the parking lot and let my senses wander:
The chill night air on my cheeks. Autumn dead-leaf smells and tastes. Night-noises and cars on nearby streets. The flag hanging limply in the lack-of-breeze. Only the brightest stars managing to penetrate the mists.
And I remembered my friend. Remembered him with more health and independence than he'd enjoyed in many a year. Remembered the dinners we'd shared. Remembered him without the cigarettes that created an early distance between us.
I drove away in silence, no tunes, no news. Next stop: Visiting an ailing, middle-aged friend who is still alive.