I hereby reclaim this place from the elemental familiar who invaded and conquered it in the time after the towers fell. Hg, the mercurial sharer, is no more. Impaled on the railings of Regents Park on All Saints Day 2010, he limped home from one barred gate to face another, then slipped into twilight. Little exists of him thereafter, only a handful of fleeting impressions, a fading half-life.
After the final fray, I travelled north with the remains of his family, buried his memory in the snow. I revisited the steel city periodically throughout the following year, but no trace remained. Four seasons forward, fresh snowfall foreshadowed a similar rite of passage, another marauder returning to earth. A reminder of unfinished business: a place abandoned that must now be secured.
It is time to make this decade-decayed sanctuary safe and sound once more. A space for future dwelling, or merely a curious museum of scars, fractures and frenzies? I cannot commit, I can only confirm the presence of my hand in the ink of its deeds. This much I know: this is not the place where things ended, but where they once began, where they might have their chance to begin again.
Hurrah.
I’ve missed regular updates. Something on the upcoming Olympics from someone in that city for someone a long way aways?
Well met! That familiar is not alien. Resurge, ye long-winded testimonials, ye apoplectic ramblings on music and gardening! I’ve misused at least one word!