the storm is over now. it's soul still. i hear the scraping of ice in the alley. last night i saw a film about a family walking in scotland in memory of their missing member by suicide and felt myself walking with them like i was a hand-held camera, with the storm surging outside.
each was a solitude created by grief and the walking path unified. 

the sister said the remembering walk made it worse. i thought of how we go to stranger's trauma as catharsis for our own unfaced. the filmmaker brother makes films of war and ecocide and for years could not utter his missing brother's name. 

i think about the remove of my father, and the remove of myself now. how it is different and how it's a continuum. it's not possible i think to articulate grief really. you can only feel it. if you see it in another, you may experience your own. another may see you experiencing your own grief and feel their own. grief reciprocates.

oops, i got to go get mister. he needs a bath today.