Click Here to write to Walt Linne Click Here to write to Alece Egan. Pilgrims, drifting across the land they fought to preserve. Where they meet is not important anymore. They meet and that's enough for now. Greetings echo across a lobby.
Hands reach out and arms draw buddies close.
Embraces, that as young men they were too uncomfortable to give, too shy to accept so lovingly. But deep within these Indian Summer days, they have reached a greater understanding of life and love. The shells holding their souls are weaker now, but hearts and minds grow vigorous, remembering. On a table someone spreads old photographs, a test of recollection. And friendly laughter echoes at shocks of hair gone gray or white, or merely gone.