I like aerial views from airplanes. It kind of helps to put things into perspective. The everyday frictions that we consider big, huge, tall, insurmountable, somehow turn trivial when dropped within the canvas of a larger image. I was on my way to visit a good friend whom I hadn't seen in years. It was a good thing. We'd have a great time catching up. I knew that. Yet there was that little aspect of the unexpected. Would time and distance fade the colors on what had once been a strong friendship? The plane banked as we made our approach to the airport and I peered out the window at the portrait of farmland that spread below me like an abstract painting. Perspective. Scale. Friendship. It's all good.

I started to worry a bit when Diane was over an hour late in picking me up. Did I have the right airport? Had I sent her the correct itinerary? Maybe she was driving 'round and 'round the airport because I'd stopped to take those dumb skylight pictures, delaying my arrival. I'd forgotten to bring her cell number, so there was another black mark against me. I wasn't starting off this reunion on a good foot. By way of several phone calls and a message on my home phone, I discovered Diane was here at the airport, waiting for me. And had been for an hour. "Where are you?" I asked when we finally connected via cell. "I'm here at the airport," she said. "Where are you?" "I'm here, too," I said, walking around looking for her. It turns out Diane had been waiting at the bottom of the escalator where new arrivals come in. I had gone a different way. And that's how we met--walking and talking on our cell phones, looking for each other until--"Oh I see you!" we both said, laughing.

If you walk down the hill, follow the road a quarter mile around the bend, then squeeze between the yellow gate and a rusted fence post and keep going until it ends in a T, you'll find yourself in this lovely place. I call it Diane's Pond, because she brought me here the first day I visited her. It's taken me a long time to get to Diane's pond. Why, I wonder? My best friend from elementary school has been after me for years to come visit her; she lives only an hour plane ride away. Was I afraid that time and separate lives had carved a chasm, deep and jagged, in our relationship? Or was I just being timid, shy, hesitant to take the first step toward renewing our friendship? Maybe I was afraid that after 40 years, she wouldn't still love me.

I'm glad I finally made it to Diane's Pond. The view says it all.

Every morning, Diane tiptoes outside in her jammies onto her front porch. She lets out the doxies then settles into her favorite bentwood rocker, a cup of joe cuddled in her lap. She’s waited a long time for this moment. Slowly the sun crests over the hills, stretching and yawning its way into the valley below. Lazy rivers of light part the trees, then gently creep across the lawn and onto Diane’s porch to warm her bare toes. It is affirmation, celebration, perhaps a moment of spiritual clarity.

I think in the cooler months she wears slippers.

The doxies wanted to keep walking, so I told Diane to go ahead while I stayed behind to take a couple more pictures. She continued along at dog-walking pace; when I was finished, I jogged on up to meet her. Much like our relationship, we’d always been on the same path, just not always together. It didn’t take more than a few minutes before we were again walking side by side. Amazing how easy it is to catch up!

Apple pie, apple butter, caramel apples, apple fritters. The harvest festival that Diane took me to on Saturday was a celebration of all things apple. We shopped, visited craft faires, and gossiped and giggled our way through a giant-sized bag of kettle corn. The image on this page is neither profound nor inspiring. But it holds special meaning for me. It makes a memory. Of an apple-scented autumn day with easy conversation, laughter, and way too much kettle corn. When I look at it, it makes me smile.

Click on the image to hear a live version of Bon Jovi’s “You Want to Make a Memory.”