The New Year.

Last night, Angela found me in my room. She said she couldn’t help me in the same way she’d helped Norman, because his loss and the manner of it was particular to him. She told me this instead: -

The world of dew is
A world of dew, yet even
So, yet even so…

It was written by Issa, a Buddhist poet, after his only child died. I don’t know yet whether it helps or not, but I keep saying it to myself. We’ll see what the new year brings.