For twenty years I’ve tried to plan

a weekend with you, my best friend, in April

when we will follow other enthusiasts

through muddy trails and stony paths

to look at reptiles and amphibians

that represent our past forms

that we were lucky enough 

to metamorphosize through.

The cursed aspects of my life since then

all stem from the promise I made you and our teacher

that we would enjoy the characteristics that define our life

before we learned to look past them.

I still struggle with the same mountains

that face me every day since those adolescent alms, 

and even this year when I had not sold that Saturday 

towards someone else’s goals, 

I failed to orchestrate the simple journey

to bring us together once again. 

Before another year takes another path from me,

I promise that we will go together there 

even if we see not a single spring creature,

because the only creature I was wanting to see,

then and most certainly now,

was you, my friend, in our natural habitat. 

Let’s consider this our invitation for next year.