The happy place

hello hello you know a few weeks back I had a friend over. He who was a bad influence back then but now he’s just a friend.

One evening we went bathing in a beautiful pond, encircled by hills and trees and here and there some lucky persons’ houses or summer lodgings were scattered in such a way that they have a beautiful view of the pond I am now describing. The shore was made up of gently curved, round stone blocks which would have provided a smooth entry into the waters had they not been slick with water and some moss like greenery.

It turns out that when my friend stumbled and fell haplessly from the wet stone into the water, his wedding ring must’ve flown off. The next day when they were already at home — having driven back the same day — they couldn’t find it no more.

I knew I wouldn’t find it, not only on account of the muddy murky lakebed, but also that same evening a full month’s worth of rain had been pouring down, breaking a very long streak of relentless sunshine and dry hear.

I knew I wouldn’t find it. And yet I went back and looked for it anyway — because that’s what a friend would do.