Sixteen minutes late.

I meant to post something, to commemorate the day. This morning over breakfast I even found myself writing what felt, at the moment, some very important ponderings in memoriam. Looking back at them this evening I found myself uncertain over the quality of my own writing, even the validity of my thoughts. Clearly there is some lesson here on the folly of deliberating too long over what is meaningful enough, what might be sufficient to honour the day.

I thought of it, however, long and hard, and in the end perhaps that is what is most important.