While tidying up my desk, or at least the part I wanted to use, I chanced upon book I had read long ago. Was it that long since I cleared my desk? As I looked at it and remembered what it was about, and begin musing how long since I had finished the book, I opened it to no particular page and begin reading it again. It all came back to me, those familiar words of the writers skillful coloring of events and times. It was then I sensed I was drifting away from the book and thinking how much in common the experience had with an old friend. A friend I had known and known well, but had gotten lost in the shuffle of time and events that had occurred since we had last talked. But like the old book, once my friend and I had established that we were once again on the same page, so to speak, all the memories began to come back into  focus as though there was never a lapse in our friendship. But unlike the book, whose words I had read to the last, my friend and I still have many pages of memories to read and write. We still have  days left to make more memories, days I pray where those memories are so fresh, we dare not call them memories.