I was there where she died. 

I was aware of when she died. I was moving between a book I was reading and looking at her.

And then there was silence. But as John Cage knew so well, silence is noisy. It is not that suddenly there was no noise, as in a nothingness or emptiness or void or sonic blankness. No it was something quite different. 

She had moved away. 

 

I sense that what I am engaged with here might well cause here to move even further away.

-Ronnie why on earth do you think that?

Because I do not think you will approve of the story I am going to tell.

You might, but I don't think it will please you. 

-Why?

-Well, one reason is that I am for ever dawdling, taking my time, wandering and, no doubt, losing your plot.

What I want to tell and what I want to explore is what you have not told me.

 I am circling around and moving in ways that seem for ever an attempt to get close to something and I am not even sure what that is.