It was a hot summers day. The kind of day you get in summer, the air seems still and everything seems brighter.

I was about five years old at the time .  And my mother and I were walking to my grand mothers  house. On the way we passed the local library, and in front of the library were rose bushes, all set out in formal rows. In amongst the rose bushes were hundreds of sparrows;

they were rubbing their breasts into the dust flapping their wings in the dust as well. They were having a high old-time. I was  fascinated.  I asked my mother what  they were doing. She  said they were washing.

For a five-year old the idea of using dirt to wash in  had interesting possibilities. My mother disagreed.

The road we used to get to my grandmothers  also led into the town centre. So it was a road that I used almost every day for years. So I often walked past the library.

Many years later, when I was all grown up, I was walking along that same road. Again it was another sultry day. and as I passed the library,  I stopped.  Something was wrong.  but I could not see what it was. I looked and looked,  and then I got it. Where were sparrows?

I felt a little sad, I had walked past that same spot for years and not noticed that something that had delighted my childhood had gone.  But then, isn’t that  just like life.friends fade away and we never notice.

The important thing is that the sparrows might have gone, but our friends might not have. They might be just a phone call away.

Thinks, now where’s my phone?

You never know, you could make new old friends.

Regards/ Bill.

W.R.Turner