It's one of those mornings when you wake up and hear something on the radio stranger than fiction. And it makes your brain race - imagining the girl, the falling, the feelings she'll have about being the only one, the reaction of those that waited for her, the sort of life she'll have now ... this girl who lived.
On a more selfish note, I missed the launch of the Poet Laureate Michele Leggott's new book Mirabile Dictu last night [something at my daughter's school I had to sort...] And I am furious about it because Leggott's events are magical word-blown events that should not be missed. Her book is astonishing as always. I review it in a couple of weeks on Radio NZ's Nine to Noon. Here's an extract that [strangely in the way of poetry - which is in itself stranger than fiction] echoes the start of this post:
cyclones have names earthquakes
numbers and in the carnage
of zeros stretching from ocean to sky
one bird falls to earth