Two years on.
You know what I mean. You know where you were. I know where I was. We both know what did happen and what didn’t happen and what it meant and what we can never understand.
I’m passing this on from Peter because it begins to say something I couldn’t find words for.
“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
From her poem: ‘The Summer Day’
And a thought. Where were you three years ago today? Four? Five? Do you know? Shouldn’t you? Isn’t every day as precious and important and memorable as that one that we are all thinking of? Or, shouldn’t it be? Impossible maybe, but I think worth trying.
And a mystery. Do you know Don?
And finally, in remembrance of Anna Lindh, who died today. More of the same.