A rainy day, I walked from the opening of the bridge seen in the background. When I got to the other side I encountered this Gentle Soul, whose name is forgotten to me, if I ever knew it. She asked me if I would take her picture with her iPhone to send to her son, living in London. I said, “Of course!” She added that her father had died in the past year. She was visibly sad, and lost. I asked her if I could take her picture with my camera and she consented. She and I parted ways.
After I conversed with a merry couple by the bridge, I headed to an ancient church down the lane. It is St. Michael’s. As I entered the tiny chapel, I caught a glimpse of my new friend, brushing a tear from her eye. I quickly fled from the doorway, and she came out. We exchanged new words. I asked her about her dad, and she changed the subject. Again, we parted ways. And, the last I saw her was in the distance walking in front of the train station, at Betws Y Coed. To this day I wonder where she fled. This poem by Wadsworth, reminds me of my encounter with a long lost friend.
The Arrow and the Song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
On Tiffany Creek 