Some say fate never fails. Bound forever by time, unstoppable, predetermined and non-negotiable, it offers solace when things are out of our own hands. More than anything, it is so comforting to know that fate can intervene, and make possible what otherwise couldn't have worked out more perfectly.

Christa and Darrell met in junior high school in October 1999. Darrell was 12 and Christa, 13. They became steadfast souls, absolutely always there for one another.  Both woven of the same cloth, their friendship refused to fray while those on the fringes of their worlds faded away. They maintained their friendship even after they finished high school, and attended different universities.  After their college graduations, Christa moved to Italy, and Darrell moved to New York City.  Despite living on disconnected continents and separated by an ocean, their deep friendship endured. Strewn lovers fell by the wayside in both of their lives, but like devoted and kindred souls, these two friends remained loyal.

The sound of the tide rolling in then returning to the sea. Tenacious seagulls tossed like papers in the wind, their plaintive calls echoing off the dunes.

In a messy mound of sand sits three pairs of shoes. You can easily see they belong to a mom, dad, and small child. What you can't see is the fourth pair; pink canvas sneakers.

There used to be four. Four pairs of shoes half-buried in the sand. Four beach towels, four folding chairs, and so many memories to make beneath one brightly striped canopy. 

Sometimes an otherwise healthy person loses his/her essence. Like a brightly colored balloon windswept from the grasp of a child, gaining distance, its hue fades. Appearing then disappearing through the clouds, it gets increasingly harder to recognize. Soon, it seems gone.

Roughly six months ago I wrote a post about Mae, a woman with Alzheimer's Disease. I have never met her, but it was her daughter's Facebook post about her that piqued my curiosity and needed sharing. Today I am compelled to write another post about the same topic, only this time it honors someone I've known for almost 40 years. Allow me to tell you about this amazing man; if you never met him, you will wish you had. To have known his friendship, well that would have put you into an entirely different place- in both your heart and his.

Recently my daughters and I hiked in the outskirts of a small New England town. We wore no watches. Time was our friend, and our only limitation would be the setting sun.

Early in our journey, we came upon retired railroad tracks. While the rails seemed secure, the ties wore proof of nature's merciless elements. Exposed to many harsh, snowy winters, then reduced to horizontal shards of splintered wood, they were fringed with clusters of moss, lichens and an occasional flowering weed. It was anyone's guess when the very last train roared along this tree-lined passageway. 

These sleepy tracks sit idle, amidst an untold story. Aimlessly we walked onward, curious travelers with nowhere to be. How refreshing. How spontaneous. How would our adventure unfold?

Outside of my cottage, leaning against a fence, you can see a lavender bicycle. My husband gave it to me 30 years ago. While it sits idle, it serves a daily purpose that supersedes its role as a mode of transportation. 

For many years my bicycle wheels have remained flat. While I've taken it with me to every city where we've moved, it's actually never taken me anywhere. It's purpose? Well that's another story.