Best Friends

I suppose I'm of an age when the term "best friend" seems no longer appropriate. Especially since I've whittled down my social circle over the years to include only those people worthy of such a grand prepubescent title. There's no hierarchy within their ranks, it's just a platoon of people I adore above most others, and who just about guarantee good times.

Over the last 48 hours I've had some seriously awesome best friend contact. Antiquing, pen pal writing, birdwatching, texting, talking about unwritten novels and future Mongolian grill girlfriend dates. But today, the person who has held the title of "best friend" (and now also "Maid of Honor") for the longest, and the one person absent from this recent best friend-a-palooza, made it all complete with a little comment made in response to my owl troops. He posted this:

"It is in vain, Owl, to extenuate the matter. Owls may cry, "Peace! Peace!" -- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears [what shall be heard for miles with our Owl ears] the clash of resounding arms! Our Owl brethren are already in the field [the field actually being the tree line of the field, perched on our Owl perches]! Why stand we here idle [even though that is as we Owls do]? What is it that Owls wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet [as plump mice], as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery [chains being a metaphor of the stitching on our enslaved felt Owl brothers and slavery being our poor Owl sisters carved from a tree stump]? Forbid it, Almighty Owl! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me Owlty, or give me death!"

Elliot - Pits, Maid of Honor, holder of the Sword of Omens, possessor of the secret voice of Voltron and best friend to Brewers one and all - I love you, owl phobia, red-car-philia and all.