We will meet again
I am thankful for my friends; they have been many. Each has left some dear cherished memory. Sometimes I can relate them to places, names, books, events, letters and even songs. Occasionally, some memories are revived strongly; a picture or the mention of a place or an activity. However the fondest memories are those of my favourite place and the people associated with it. The mist laden hills; high up in the eastern Himalayas.The long winding roads. Times when the road to a friends house was never too long. The taste of the local delicacies. The glorious, blazing red colour of the rhodhodhendrons in early spring. The vibrant painting of the himalayas by the early rays of the rising sun...transforming the colours of the sleepy mountains from once pale grey, to red, then pink, to orange, to golden yellow and then vibrant dazzling white. One evening, I was caught in a dense fog. Visibility was barely a feet. I would have to bring my hands...