A meeting in the street

Already Saturday, 5th day of March, and I realize this is my first post of the month, and only second of the week. Counting, counting, counting…
So now just back after some errands and a fine walk in the brisk late afternoon.
Meet an old Zen friend in the street; haven’t seen him for nearly a year, I’m surprised to see him now, he’s not surprised to see me. We exchange news of spouses, children, mutual friends, something about a singer he likes, bits of news here and there. He tells me about a book, about living every day as if you had only one year to live. Does that mean counting, counting, counting? Or is it an attempt to put the count aside?
Strikes me how much gray is specked in his hair. Mine, too, I suppose. An observation that feels not about counting, counting, counting, but rather just a reflection of this very moment, who and where we are today, like his purple trousers and bright turquoise shirt under his coat, and buses passing and cars, a couple of barking dogs, and an array of people like us, on foot as night begins to fall.