Michael Hill was a freind from school. On Monday he was teaching rowing to young people on the Thames in London. The boat capsized. His body has not yet been found. In this cold weather we must assume he is dead. At school, from primary through middle school we were freinds though never too close. He was on the perifery of my circle. At one point he came in for some abuse during a mushroom trip I was not at. This is a sacramental exercise and like to think I would have intervened. This precious magic has dangers not to be played with.
Later he reappeared at feddy gigs. An adult, working in chapeltown helping young offenders. We met again on occassion at feddysgigs and as adults struck up an understanding. He moved to london. I would here of his good days on facebook. He found something in rowing he shared at a number of places, teaching youngsters.
He died doing something he enjoyed. He was a good man. Respectful to all. Considerate.
Overplaying the significance of our relationship would be lieing but we understood and respected each other. We shared many years, saw each other grow, develope. He was safe, stable, secure. I am more a wild animal. Not through intent. My reactions are intuitive. His motion was considered. Yet life pans out odd sometimes. I suspect he was dearly loved. Not always respected. I, respected, seldom loved.
This is not about me. Farewell Hilly. I was always fond of you.
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