He is not a man of deep reflection. His thought skims the margins of things, as a swallow skims the surface of a pond seeking its food, bright and quick. It suits him; suits his sense of humor, his odd turns of phrase, and the joy in his eyes.

I, on the other hand, am constantly deep in thought. He suspects these depths and comments upon them, even if he rarely understands. We are a study in contrast, complementary, a chiaroscuro in human form. Where I seek the depths, he soars.

We meet at the water's still, sun-dappled surface, mirrored.