And the thought emerges like so many dim and distant sounds of traffic hurrying through the city, ever closer until it stops, blaring, where I stand on the grey, cold sidewalk:

Sharp and thoughtless words always hurt whether one is comfortably settled in a luxurious place or walking barefoot along the roadside. And you can never pull them back to you, can never gather them up again; you can not pour a drink that will soothe their sting or blow a kiss for them to blush under. Once they are said the virginity of friendship is lost and thoughtful choices are made - and it happens that when you look up after having wiped your brow with a gesture of shame you find the person gone... 

 

At the end of our new cul de sac,  two doors down, is a field that stretches far and wide. The girls slip notes to eachother with instructions to meet at the "Le Grand Arbre" or "Big Tree" down by the creek for hours of imagination. If by chance we can't find them anywhere...this is where we look.