Sorry readers.
I am still feeling cut up about CynicalSteve's death (please see below). I sought my solace downtown in Temple Bar and in the sacred silence of Dublin's bookshops. Cafes were useless. I could hardly eat anything.
It was cold and I thought that autumn waited impatiently, sandwiched between the hours like a dangerous ice-queen.
If there was one lesson I had learnt it was the hidden ephemeral truths of the web that could prove terrifying without warning.
That it was possible to mourn the vanishing, the missing, the lost, the flown...as I would have yearned for someone gone, who had once shaken my hand or kissed my cheek. The seen and the unseen. The web holds a jagged mirror that hides the difference. In its secret sheen, tears glide the invisible trail.