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This is a story about sunlight and clouds in a wide blue sky, a pond, a warm, green day in a summer many years ago, and the discovery of a lost friend. But it begins years before that with a day of rainstorms and tears, a sad day of leaving people you love and who love you.

Heraclitus was wrong. Yes, you can step into the same river twice. What could be easier? You find a shallow spot, take off your boots and socks, roll up your pant legs and step into the water. You feel the chill and the smooth stones beneath your feet, turn around and wade back to shore. Then you do the same thing over again. If you are 19 or 20 years old, as I was at the time I discovered the old Greek’s error, you can smile smugly at your friend. “There, I did it twice,” I proclaimed.

At first glance there’s a lot information to pay attention to — an expanse of water, boats, a wharf, and the harbor on the far side of the bay. At first glance we probably notice the woman. But the man? At first glance they don’t seem to be aware of each other. Is this a scene in a film in which they could possibly meet, might come together as friends, or lovers? Or do they already know each other and are breaking apart?