Dearest Friend, 
The sun finally seems to win out over the dark days of winter, at least there are more days the sun wins out. I've been gone too long, reverting to mental discussions with you, missing you, missing the times we spent snuggled up before the fire with the wind playing with the snow outside. Discussing anything an nothing, saving the world to the tune of slow jazz and a bottle of red. 
Today, I awoke, and one of our discussions gripped my mind and hasn't let go since. Perhaps because we ended up having more questions than either of us felt comfortable answering - or knew how to answer. Remember SupSpi?  How we coined the term "Supreme Spirit(s)" when discussing religion as a way to refer to the figure or figures at the center of most of the religious beliefs? How we wondered whether all of those different religions weren't in fact build around the same SupSpi. And if so, whether it really mattered to the SupSpi what name or names we used, what form of worship, which dedicated or undedicated places of worship, which time of the day, of the week, or the year, we choose. And why it wasn't the best way to worship the SupSpi to honor and respect others and their opinions, especially the ones that differ from our own! What if we all thought alike, believed alike, acted alike?  Next thing you know, we move alike and dress alike and look alike. Shouldn't we be celebrating the diversity that makes up this world and its inhabitants, and shouldn't we treasure those who are different the most?
Tonight, I will have a glass of that red while sorting the things I needed for my next trip to the cabin, and perhaps, this time, I'll light up a fire, snuggle up, listen to the wind playing with whatever is available, snow, rain, leaves or some humming bugs ... and perhaps even some of that slow jazz ...
Be safe, be well, where ever you are  

Dear Friend,

There's not a day going by that I don't think of you. Although, for a while, your voice in my mind had gone quiet. T sent me a photo and I thought it might be one of the night we spent at the bent of the river, sitting outside the tents rather than sleeping off the day of hiking, enjoying the company, the stars, the moment. Alas, it was a picture of flowers carefully arranged next to the road. Flowers in all rainbow-colors before the backdrop of crushed underbrush and a mangled tree. How well I remember the road, riding it with you with the top down, the wind in our hair and the radio telling us which song to sing.
I dreamed of you last night. I was sitting in the grass at the edge of the woods. You were stretched out, with your head in my lap, my hand in your hair. You turned your head, a lazy smile on your face, reaching up. Those are the pictures that are worth keeping, the laughter and singing while driving down that winding road, the languid quiet and oh, so sweet moments. Not some rainbow flowers slowly wilting away as cars rush by.
Thank you so much for coming back to me, even if it's only in my dreams.
Be well, my friend, wherever you are ...

Dear Friend,

Today I awoke to the sound of your voice, your cheery: "Rise and smile, kiddo!"
Obviously, you still deny that the change to daylight saving time has me jet-lagged for the better part of the year. With the change just having been made last weekend, my inner clock still is confused. Being in my mind you should, at the least, suffer with me. But waking up with your voice in my ears, I did smile, and with that smile on my face, I turned around, snuggled deeper under the covers and successfully avoided moving on to the "rise" part of the day, enjoying the opportunity to stay in bed. It is, after all, weekend!
So much has happened in the world, and yet, so little has changed in the micro-cosmos that is my life. Following news about the catastrophe in Japan has me roaming the internet, and channel surfing on the TV, whenever I find the time. So many souls taken by mother earth, and so many more endangered by mankind's "progress" which, in essence, seems to be incapable of a peaceful coexistence with nature. Reports about the Fukushima power plant remind me of an exercise in nuclear chemistry: the minute by minute analysis of what happened in Chernobyl, what went wrong, what needed doing, what was or was not done, and what were the consequences ... . I don't exactly recall how many errors were made, how many things could have been done to avert the final outcome. But I do recall that it was a series of errors in judgment that spanned a considerable amount of time until the outcome could no longer be averted. There was much to be learned and, from what little there is to be found in pertinent information in the public records right now, it seems that those on charge of the power plant did, and still do, the best they can to limit the consequences as far as possible. Still, the extent of the consequences is yet to be determined.
If you were here, we would probably be butting heads again, trying to find common ground in the discussion about whether progress is learning to master nature or, rather, is learning to live with it. Having that discussion with you in my mind just isn't the same ... . Nonetheless, come tonight when I sit down with a glass of wine, I will try to figure it out. I trust you'll be there to help and to keep me from being "blind to all but my opinion" - wasn't that how you put it? It's in moments like this that missing you wants to take over. Keep waking me in the morning, please. Keep reminding me there's good and laughter and reasons to rise and smile.
And most of all, be well, my friend!

Dear Friend,

Last night on the phone we shared laughs and thoughts. We were clicking our glasses from afar, chatting the hours away. Today, I learned that you're gone.

Your made a remark that the art of writing a letter has become an endangered species that was being devoured by text and instant messages, and even by e-mails.

"Not that I don't like IMs, to the contrary. It has its advantages at times. But it doesn't really allow to develop a thought. Once you've hit enter to send the first part on its way, more often than not, you'll receive an answer whether you still were writing the second or third part or not. It's a tennis match where each side scrambles to keep up with the balls thrown their way.And e-mails, all too often, are mere raw bones, dropped into a mail box that is or is not monitored, or even has ceased to exist. Who takes the time, nowadays, or makes the time, to write a letter ~ working on the words and phrases until they are just right to carry the message they are meant to convey?" 

Your comparison of an IM with a tennis match had me seeing tennis balls adorned with broad smiley faces bouncing happily back and forth whenever I saw someone texting away on their phones. And rather than being annoyed that the texters were bumping into others left and right, I stood back to watch the melee with a big smile of my own. Once again, you have managed to open my eyes to the funny  and absurd side of things. So, rather than heading straight home, I went and picked up what I needed to write you a long thank-you letter. I laid it all out carefully in my mind, how I was going to paint you a picture of my day: of the smell of spring in the air that greeted me when I left in the morning, the sunshine that -at some point in the day- reflected from the picture of you that sits on my desk ... 

My purchases may have been a waste, but so long as I can still hear your voice in my mind, your laughter, and your sighs, at my follies and failures, I will keep sending letters to you. You may be gone, but to me, you're still there, ready to set me straight when needed ~ which, unfortunately, is by far too often.

Be well, my friend, and take good care of yourself ~