The strange thing is,
it wasn't there on the day.
I'm sure of it.
Ben MacDui, April, 1993:
cloudless, blue, glorious.
Three boys out from the city,
out from the flat grey sprawl,
shouting and laughing
into the giant empty sky.
We were there by the grace of two kind men,
teachers,
who knew of greater things
than the classroom had to offer.

But now,
looking back,
the cloud has descended.
For every three of my footsteps,
one chilling, giant crunch rings out
in restless pursuit.
Shadows are cast across clouds
that simply were not there
and an unconditioned joy cowers
beneath the brocken spectre,
the Big Grey Man that followed
unseen, unguessed, and uninvited.