aging

it was not a meeting of old friends.
by strict standards of temporality.
(they would have met
thrice before,
each a carefully plucked opportunity
from a universal conspiracy of plans.)

conversations flowed,
occasionally lingered,
lilted, and sashayed,
easing around, sometimes jumping over
boulders of silence, experience, ignorance,
much like the mountain streams
they had sat by and relished
long ago.
 
a year ago, trudging across knee deep snow
they had seen
what the scorching sun did to frost,
much the same happened
in that room with a beautiful view
between laughter and their hearts.

by 3 am, they were cracking up
just looking at each other.
they signed off at pre-dawn
with a cup of tea,
 
and when all was finally silence
in the backdrop of the calm breathing
of transient youth,
the view from over the hill
seemed less daunting.