It is difficult to believe that Solitario Jorge did not lament his solitude until he was lost, although that may be a Shakespearean artifact of my inclination to anthropomorphism.
Do animals grieve the absence of their children, their mates, their companions? I know our convivial beagles miss Jim, who would take them out running, where others only walk (or, like yours truly, are pulled forward and off her own feet by) them. Because we’d never see them again if they were off-leash, perhaps running at that speed with Jim gave them the illusion of being untethered–of something like flight.
One can live alone, of course. In America people seem to be doing so in unprecedented numbers. But living alone does not mean living without companionship–the company of colleagues, friends, children, siblings, parents, animals; of transporting works of literature, music and art.
Thinking of life’s companions inescapably brings me back to John Hiatt:
Red tail hawk shooting down the canyon
Put me on that wind he rides
I will be your true companion
When we reach the other side . . . .