a time which I could hardly believe would arrive so soon has come and gone. Loki returned to his other home in Iceland yesterday. bravely getting on yet another plane to fly alone, with a stop-over in Boston, to Reykjavík. the not knowing of the next point where our paths will cross is the most traumatic of the circumstance. a whole year passed. a whole of seamlessly fragmented tableaus, scenes, moments, seconds, events, incidents. now memory. re-produced here and there. in re-created form. but the thing itself, gone, and partly regretful.