See ya

And so, my friend, we did it.  

We stood atop the hill, stared across the jumble of a thousand years of art and touched the sky.

Now I bank right, make a sharp turn above you and head across the Alps for “home”.

In the last days, we dug to find the roots of friendship and, finding them, slashed mercilessly.  Yet, still, the tree thrives. 

As the turbulence begins to ease, I look up from my book seeing metaphors around me. 

The girl on the bus who watched us hug and smiled at the echo of my “See ya later, mate!” sits twenty feet behind and will be my escort through Arrivals – guardian of our farewell.

Jack descends his mountain (Desolation) to end three months of fire-watch.  At civilisation’s door, he parts forever with the warden.   “See ya later, Fred.”

Hills, mountains, thinking angels.  Life. 

Short, beautiful, euphoric, crushingly sad life.

We have to share the witnessing of this.

To commune. 

That’s what we found.

I think that you, FAS and the drummer may have prevented another drowning.