After

It might seem that there has been a gap. Also, it might seem that I no longer care. Either of these things is a true as any religion, that is, a truth about which I cannot comment. Anyway, here I am.

This was a home that I had never intended to revisit. Back when it was home – a time which now reflects a greater depth of past than a look ahead can of hopeful future – I had admired and feared it in equal measure. A place of darkness and of sanctuary, of suspicion and of happiness. A place whose presence changed with the seasons.

But isnt that the case everywhere? You can test it. The grim northern market town takes on the appearance of a continental paradise on a warm summer’s day. Try the same place in the rain, or fog, or sat alone as those around celebrate Christmas… Well, you get the picture.

Another dialogue

Look, he said.

The past is a worship of 
ephemera

The future asks you to live for it.

Live for it, he thought
Staring from the sockets that windowed 
the reality to which he was subscribed

The reflection looked back but said nothing

Reflections don’t understand

Start now, he said
See, a line engraved under everything that once was

His reflection grimaced, gnashed it’s teeth
the mirror’s glass a cage to this beast

It was Tuesday when they said goodbye.  Packing up the car, they drove out to the edge of the cliffs.  Sat. Drank tea from the thermos. Looked out.

The back of the car was full.  And the boot.

They looked at each other and released the hand  brake, leaping from the car just moments before it plummeted to the beach below.

Uncle had always loved making sand castles.