Heavy with loss, the scattered elements find no comfortable home – pulled from pillar to post, unformed, uncomfortable. All the old rules are gone. The old assurances, the old understandings, the rocks that we built our whole lives upon. Gone. No anchors any more, we’re all built upon the sand, we’re all foolish men, we’re all children again. We look to the future, not with wide-eyed hope (as before) but, clenched, waiting, hoping to side-step the inevitable. We wait, breathless, helpless, hopeless.
