It is with a sense of sadness that I write to you again. Sadness mixed with a grateful sense of warmth. Richard of the City has become a brother over the years. Not so much by genetics, as we come from completely different spaces in the universe, but more in the way of folks who have traveled similar, and sometimes identical roads. I ran into Richard here at the end of the road, physically. He came down here fishing with some friends I guess, and stuck out like a walnut in the chocolates. A large man, with a face carved by time and some self inflicted ravages. Behind that craggy face, and leaking to the outside world through his windows was a lithe and lively intellect, honed by some hard stones, and sharp as a razor. I was going to say that his eyes "twinkle", but that sounds like Santa, and Rich is no Santa. His wryness and gentle life eroded sarcasm fit together with me as though we have been practicing for years, as we now can say we have. Many has been the afternoon that Richard and I would head off in a stereo stream of consciousness, verbally jammin' like Jerry and Bobby, filling in the holes, driving the other in directions that neither of us had been previously aware of. Others may not of seen it that way, El Rey Tut would walk away shaking his head, Bobo would grow impatient and head off with his smart phone, but Rich and I were jammin' and it was good, at least in our synced up minds. Rich is some older than I, not so much as measured by the calendar, but by the topography of his life. He had ventured into, and returned from, some places so dark that I'm not sure I would have had the fortitude to rebound from. It certainly has taken some starch out of him, but the extra wrinkles both on his face and on his cortex were pure character. Richard is in the final stages of this earthly sentence, entering hospice shortly, and then beyond. Once again, as so often happens as we all age, another "we will be lesser for his absence" kinda guys is about to prove that that is sometimes true. I don't like it, probably won't get used to it, but am not surprised by it. I feel as proud as a guy with a girl friend with small hands to have met him, spent time with him, and to have performed the theoretical "mind meld" with his considerable psyche. He is unable to talk to me on the phone, and I fear that I shall not see him again, much less interact, so this will have to do as a goodbye, my friend. It seems rather puny, but I'm sure that you will understand.
David
I promise to write on fishing in the next few days, this is just not the time.
