Two Walks a Diptych

Dear Friend,

And so we walked, you and I, in that gentle blue hour after sunset just before dusk, down through the winding Chinatown alleys, under the Transamerica lost in fog, and beyond, to the boardwalk of the Ferry Building, where we stopped to look out upon the Bay Bridge. You, with your familiar stride, the same stride I first developed a healthy fear for five summers ago in Seattle, when I followed you up and down the Belltown ramparts. Me, breathless, reaching with each step to try and keep your pace.

I must admit I cannot remember well our conversation from that evening, for a year has since passed. In all likelihood, we were silent through most of it. But I do remember your kindness — how you paused each step a blink before the next, how you choreographed each moment of rest to arrive at a beat of wonder — and I remember our purpose — how we both so determined to hallow as ours the path we wound through your city.

Beautiful, I remarked, breathtaken, as we looked over the balustrade, even without its lights. We must've stayed a while. We are both appreciative of these little joys, and so many of my own sensitivities I must owe to you. I recall your silence as you breathed in the view, searching with your thoughtful eyes for something new that we might remember as ours. I hope you succeeded. I certainly did.

You had not known it then, but I would start running soon after. When next we walked, a year later, I wouldn’t be nearly so out of breath. This time, the Bridge would be lit, and we'd admire its dancing lights from the same pier we stood a year before. You remembered, of course. You always do.

And so we walked, you and I, a coffee each in hand, from streets in joyful anarchy down into the Park, our steps made childlike and clumsy by the heavy snows. You, clad in a warm black coat, a gentle blue scarf wreathed around your neck, an icy crown gathering in your hair. Me, in my heavy parka, my hands half-frozen, pausing every few steps so that I may ask you to hold my coffee as I snapped photos of the snowy cheer all around us.

I had been overjoyed to see how well Winter wore on you. You are of sunny Texas stock and bright California nature, but you have taken to this City and its gifts so wonderfully, and it has been my pleasure to behold. When the season’s first snows descended upon us, I knew you would find it cheerful. And you did, and so here we were, forging our way through the shapeless snowbanks that hid the world beneath.

Grateful, I was, to wander the Park with you, to explore these familiar paths made strange by the fallen snow, to learn like a child, step by step, how to walk all over again. Winter is a demanding sage who obscures his lessons in simple, unlikely things, but you are an excellent student, for you learned well his lessons, and you are generous, for you shared so freely the wonders you discovered with me.

We walked for so many hours that day, until night fell upon us, until the snows finally stopped, until our legs grew weary. It had been Winter, but warm, this memory would keep me, until I returned months later come Spring.

Belovingly, Eden