The first half dozen pages were photocopies of a road. That road passed the delicate outstretched arms of a brilliant redbud. That road passed a concrete wall, with the rich aroma of deep purple lilacs bordering on the other side. That road passed a friendly old dog, sleeping within the cool comfortable shade of a birch tree. That road passed the home of my parents; a road my friend and I walked many a times, filled with meaningful conversation. At the time, I hadn't realized how meaningful ...until now, as I read Pierre's dedication, a testimony to our friendship.