The Sands of Time

The Sands of Time blew back and forth for a few hours last week. l took the train over to Köln on Thursday to meet my old friend Tim Speicher. He and his wife Jo Ann have been cruising the rivers of Europe. Their ship is a little too big for the Werre, so we settled on the Rhein. Aside from the mandatory Westfälisch half hour of rain, it was a fine day.

The first sand storm hit when Tim said it had been 52 year since we first met. We were 14 and freshmen at St. Rose High School. We were also new kids on the block. Tim went to grade school in Archbald and I in Jermyn. In those days, a few miles meant a lot more than they do today, culturally, politically, and economically. Carbondale, when St. Rose was located, was a much bigger town than either of ours, and somewhat intimidating, at least, for the the first few weeks.

 We survived, and 52 years later, we ate Bratwurst and Rotkohl in Köln.

On the train back to Herford, I relived a lot my life, good and bad, happy and sad. My dreams were full of ghosts that night, and I smiled on waking in a future I had never imagined, where the Sands of Time look more like dust on the furniture.