FORGIVENESS

Have you ever had it when someone forgives you at the most important and vulnerable moment of their life?

I have and it changed me forever.

It was winter, as I remember and one of my best friends and I had managed to seemingly burn the only bridge to each other's hearts irrevocably.

There's a point of no return you sometimes find in relationships which happens with friendships also. This appeared to be one such case and the hope of reviving the bond seemed as unlikely as almost anything impossible I could imagine back then.

But then the lonely sounding ring of the telephone came out of the winter blue one Sunday morning and an offer to meet was proposed by the estranged friend.

Without hesitation, I met him and an hour or so later we found ourselves in the valley we'd often roamed together in times past. I often notice how atmospheric and climatic changes can seem appropriate in symbolising our emotional state of mind at times. I've recently been told it's called a pathetic fallacy. The deep snow covering the fields and woods all around had just that: a soft magical aura of stillness that seemed fitting with this tender moment of recovering a friendship from the brink of total annihilation.

It turned out my friend's father had died that same morning and in light of this sad event my friend had realised now was the time to make up and resolve our petty squabbles that had now been dwarfed by the far more important loss of his dad.

Not much needed to be said in that time, where the depth of the moment was accompanied by the deep crunch of our boots in the thick snow beneath our feet as our breaths formed cold clouds.

When we eventually returned to my house later that afternoon from our walk, the light was fading and I made a fire and some hot tea. My friend took out a couple of matching CDs from his iconic ocean blue Jansports rucksack that he'd collected from a classical record shop in Gloucester. As I remember it, he had Brahms 2nd Piano Concerto played by Edwin Fischer and conducted by Wilhelm Furtwangler on Testament and in reciprocation I brought out from my music cupboard a matching set of Siblius Violin Concerto with Christian Ferras and Herbert Von Karajan on Deutsche Grammophon.

The exchange of CDs as ritual has stuck in my mind, like a mafia oath only with classical music and not some blood omerta.

Watching the flames flickering as the skies in the oriel window began to turn dark, we listened to Brahms and Sibelius and said little, satisfied that some things don't need to be said in such moments.

Just felt in the heart.