This one’s for you - felt you as soon as I sat down. Felt my brotherhood with the great hug of a man that you are.

How are you?

Like, really - in that quiet place?

I still remember both my goodbye hugs - launching myself full tilt across your bed into your open, sleepy arms. Your embrace saves worlds - opens hearts and salves the most broken ones. Thank you for being the long distance brother who sends news of nothing, who drives me round the country in delightful sports cars - who makes fun of my age - I get disproportionately older each time you see me. And thank you for letting me into your life in these small ways.

God, a pint with you I miss - another breakfast muffin at the kitchen table - and a barrage of questions concerning what country’s start with the letter K, to which I am almost always baffled.

Your doing you is a beauty to behold.

Anything, anything that you decide to do because it’s you, is authentic perfection. There is no way to go - no wrong path - only the one that you uniquely tread. So, on this ten degree morning, as I light the fire, relish the scent of wood smoke - I bid you well - and love, my Irish brother.