Reblogged from Counting Ducks:

He’d lived a different life to mine; climbing mountains I had never heard of but his eyes lit up with understanding when I spoke. You do not have to be young to be lost, and living a life marked by disapproval was a fate we both shared. I was twenty four and he “just over seventy” as he’d said for several years.

He was difficult by all accounts, and refusing to be wrapped in his memorial: we shared an aversion to the commonplace which is arrogant I know. By normal standards his morals were doubtful, his career patchy, yet he remained exuberant about life and a celebrator of the smallest episode.

He was there by force of circumstances and I, because I lacked direction, but our bond was to “Enjoy the moment and let the morrow damn you if it can. “

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