Monday, February 13, 2006

Firhouse, February 13th, 2006

There were silent lines of Garda tape strung along the Firhouse Road today. It hugged the line of the hedgerow, tied off at intervals on telegraph poles. A young guard stood watch on the edge of the cordon at the Shopping Centre, shuffling about in his blue uniform and hat, waiting for orders.

The scene flew by at forty miles an hour as the taxi passed and I looked out, like the bystanders, on whatever might be glimpsed. Human nature, I suppose, wondering, fearful, sympathetic, shocked. The news came through in rumour in my busy day, almost forgotten later in my Valentine's Day card hunt, joining the small crowd of mostly men looking bemusedly at red hearts on Easons display stands, handing them mutely to the checkout girls to ring up and paper bag.

Tonight as the news reader reported again the deaths of a mother and her two children, the sky, overcast since morning, slowly shed great wet tears. I felt them fall on my back and on my brow as I put a chain though the bars of our gate and closed the padlock tight. I think that Jesus wept this evening. I said a small prayer in the dark and went inside.

Tomorrow, February 14th, we will think about love.

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