That Old Gang of Mine
The day has turned the corner at midnight. The moon pierces through the treetops to a haven by a lake with a name that doesn’t matter. The frogs are croaking their own
throaty melody, an orchestral composition with an earthy refrain. A lone wolf howls in the distance.
In that rough-hewn setting, I wish I was with that old gang of mine, toasting the goodness of life with a merry libation. We would dialogue on truth and beauty, uncover the mysteries of life, and enjoy another evening of fellowship. We might even yowl at the moon, recapturing the primal energy of our earliest forebears.
But no one is here. Those boon companions are gone to far-away places. I’m for once and forever on my own without that old gang of mine. To be honest, I miss them, feeling cheated by the merciless passage of time that has left me with only the memory of their camaraderie and love.
PATRICK J. WOOD
Author of “Dear Reader” and “Tapestry of Love and Loss”