I am confused by the good news. It is such bright, good news, overlaid with shards of loss which cast their light, prismed through fractured pieces, across its tear-stained joy:
the loss of innocence
the loss of a mother who never lived to see the day
the loss of little lives
the loss of years, and months, and weeks, and days, and minutes, and countless moments of freedom
the loss of a neighbourhood which will never again let its children out to play in the summer street where shadows gather
the loss of unformed memories
the loss of those unfound.
And yet the colours shine with astonished life, unlooked for redemption. It is, indeed, confusingly good news.