The boy’s round face is dark as the Blue Nile, alive and sweet with August.  His small friend’s Valencia curls tumble over quizzical eyes and smudged cheeks; she interrupts the game to study me, a passerby, extra on the set, hardly worth mentioning.  Their echoed play recedes into the firefly dusk.

A few houses down I pass ponytailed girls in tank tops and decorated sandals, two young egrets skirting the cracked flagstones.  One asks the other, ‘so are you coming over tomorrow?’ and the other says, ‘probably,’ almost as though the question and the answer are one.

Four hundred miles away, Celeste and Yan make origami roses to mark Chinese Valentines Day in their freshman dorm.  They take pictures of the furled petals and send them home to charmed families.

Today I talked at length with my friend about solitude - a chosen rest from sociability - and loneliness - an existential given my friend equates with sadness.  I’d rather cast loneliness as a norm we can’t escape so why not welcome it to push us into action?

The neighbor kids and the origami artists - I’d wager they don’t spend a lot of brain power contemplating loneliness.  Some (existential?) readiness nudges them into connectedness and play.  It’s that simple.

I know this because my dreamboat companion, awaiting me at home as I round the long block, was more blond and less mellow of touch and voice the day we met in East Lansing nineteen years ago.  We’re better off in tandem than our pieces and parts could ever be alone. Unlatching its case, I throw my arms around my acoustic six string like a kid and her best friend at the ice cream stand, hungry and happy and hot.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Graphic Susan Weber, based on photo by Celeste Hershey, Origami Rose