Bird

On my wet, windy walk to work this morn­ing, a bro­ken um­brel­la flapped on the side­walk like a dy­ing bird.

Lamb says some­where that if, of three friends (A, B, and C), A should die, then B los­es not on­ly A but “A’s part in C,” while C los­es not on­ly A but “A’s part in B.” In each of my friends there is some­thing that on­ly some oth­er friend can ful­ly bring out. By my­self I am not large enough to call the whole man in­to ac­tiv­i­ty; I want oth­er lights than my own to show all his facets. Now that Charles is dead, I shall nev­er again see Ronald’s re­ac­tion to a specif­i­cal­ly Caroline joke. Far from hav­ing more of Ronald, hav­ing him “to my­self” now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald. Hence true Friendship is the least jeal­ous of loves.

- C.S. Lewis The Four Loves