Norah Looked At Her Son’s Tiny Face,

He Carried Paul Inside And Up The Stairs. He Gave Him A Drink Of Water And The Orange Chewable Aspirin He Like And Sat With Him On The Bed, Holding His Hand...this Was What He Yearned To Capture On Film: These Rare Moments Where The World Seemed Unified, Coherent, Everything Contained In A Single Fleeting Image. A Spareness That Held Beauty And Hope And Motion - A Kind Of Silvery Poetry, Just As The Body Was Poetry In Blood And Flesh And Bone.

Norah Looked At Her Son’s Tiny Face, Surprised, As Always, By His Name. He Had Not Grown Into It Yet, He Still Wore It Like A Wrist Band, Something That Might Easily Slip Off And Disappear. She Had Read About People – Where? She Could Not Remember This Either – Who Refused To Name Their Children For Several Weeks, Feeling Them To Be Not Yet Of The Earth, Suspended Still Between Two Worlds.

Norah Watched Him, Serious And Utterly Absorbed In His Task, Overcome By The Simple Fact Of His Existence.

Once, This Whole World Had Been Hidden Beneath A Shallow Sea.

You Can't Spend The Rest Of Your Life Tiptoeing Around To Try And Avert Disaster. It Won't Work. You'll Just End Up Missing The Life You Have.