friendship

"The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship." I believe W. Blake was right when he wrote this. There is no place like home, many say. I believe it too. But what is home?

One of my friends asked me yesterday over the phone if I am homesick. Yes I was homesick. Because I miss, not only the splendid scenery of my little hamlet back home, but that warmth that only friends could give. That doesn't mean I haven't got friends here. I have got them, many. I was listening to country music, I mean that kind that could be so country wild, so soul-stirring. The lyrics reached me from the past. And I thought of when and where I first learnt to appreciate such music. I was recalled to friends as well as home. Nothing is so beautiful like friendship born of equal mind.

That is what home means to me. It is not the money that buys me all I need. It is not the comfort of the environment. Home to me is a very simple structure, not physical, composed of those intangible or little gestures that define human intercourse: frank conversations, joyous laughter, simple smiles and gentle cuddles... these are gestures we do not pay for. The most excellent things of life are gratuitous. We do not own them because we belong to one or the other race, to this or the other class. They are simply the extravagant bestowing of nature's bounty. There is home when we find a human who can think the same thoughts with us and share in our laughter as well as in our tears. Our most secure shelter is in the friend we have got. Period!