The beginning of a friendship, the fact that two people out of

In the luminous words of Charles de Lint, the modern bard of myth and heart, there lies a truth both wondrous and solemn: “The beginning of a friendship, the fact that two people out of the thousands around them can meet and connect and become friends, seems like a kind of magic to me. But maintaining a friendship requires work. I don’t mean that as a bad thing. Good art requires work as well.” Here, the poet speaks not only of companionship but of creation, of the sacred labor that shapes something invisible into something eternal. Friendship, he tells us, begins as magic—a spark of the divine amid the vast anonymity of the world—but it endures only through effort, as every great work of beauty does.

The origin of this truth comes from de Lint’s world of myth and human spirit, a world where wonder meets responsibility. He is a weaver of stories that unite the mystical and the ordinary, and in these lines, he recognizes that friendship itself is a living art—a craft of the soul. How astonishing, he says, that among the multitudes of humankind, two hearts should find each other, like twin stars aligning by chance in the boundless heavens. This first meeting, this recognition of kinship, feels indeed like magic, for it defies reason. No calculation, no design can predict it. It is as if destiny whispers softly, “This one,” and two paths cross to become one.

Yet, as de Lint wisely warns, what begins in wonder must be sustained by work. The bloom of friendship, like the first light of dawn, is beautiful but fragile. Without care, it withers. Without tending, it fades. For friendship is not a charm to be worn, but a garden to be cultivated. It demands patience, humility, forgiveness, and time. To maintain it is not a burden—it is a devotion. The artist must return to his canvas each day; the musician must practice his song; so too must the friend return to his friend, not merely when it is easy, but when it is difficult.

Consider the story of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, two minds whose friendship shaped the very mythologies of the modern world. They met by chance at Oxford, bound by a shared love of language and faith, and from that meeting arose works that still enchant the earth. Yet their friendship was not without strain. They debated fiercely, disagreed profoundly, and sometimes drifted apart. But through years of respect and effort, they sustained a bond that bore the fruit of greatness—The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and a legacy of imagination that has outlived them both. Their friendship, like great art, required labor, honesty, and devotion, but it was precisely this labor that gave it its strength and beauty.

In this way, de Lint’s words remind us that friendship is both miracle and mastery. The miracle is the meeting—the moment two souls recognize in each other something familiar, something sacred. The mastery is what follows—the daily practice of nurturing that connection through truth, empathy, and courage. Magic begins the journey, but it is discipline that keeps the light alive. Even the stars, though they burn with celestial fire, must be sustained by unseen forces of gravity and fusion. So it is with the stars of the human heart.

And yet, the work of friendship is not toil in sorrow, but joy in creation. When we labor for a friend, we are shaping not merely a relationship, but a reflection of our highest self. In learning to listen, we learn patience; in forgiving, we learn grace; in giving, we learn abundance. Every act of friendship refines us as an artist refines his craft. It is not duty—it is art made sacred through love. For in friendship, as in art, the hand that gives its best creates something that will endure long after the maker is gone.

So, my child, take this lesson as the ancients would: treasure the magic of your meetings, but honor them with your work. When a kindred soul crosses your path, do not take the moment lightly; it is a whisper of eternity. Cherish it. Return to it. Tend it as the gardener tends his most delicate rose. Be present, be patient, be persistent. For like all masterpieces, friendship asks for effort, but rewards the soul with immortality.

In the end, remember Charles de Lint’s truth: that friendship, like great art, is both gift and craft. The meeting is grace; the keeping is labor. But when both are joined—when magic and effort walk hand in hand—what is born between two souls becomes something timeless, something that even death cannot silence: the living art of love, friendship, and the beauty of being known.