On a Lark

These last few days have found me visiting people rather than birds; a special category of people:  old friends.  The first visit was planned.  The second visit was on a lark.

One friend I’ve known since the age of thirteen.  The other friend I’ve known some fifteen years.  Both visits were slow and relaxed and filled with laughter and tears and the type of conversations that sisters hold special.

We each three women are in the traveling phases of our lives; two of us by RV; one by plane.  Our paths do not cross often enough, but when they do, good conversation never fails to join us.

When a good friend shares their life with me, I no longer feel alone and covered in the muck of life’s harder days:

When a good friend shares their life with me, I no longer feel lost in the crowd:

And when a good friend shares their life with me, my life is made special.  I better understand what it means to be a Lark Sparrow.  A Lark Sparrow is described by ornithologists with this one phrase: a sparrow like no other sparrow.

 

A day with a close friend is like no other day.