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Our neighbor Sam is in his mid-seventies. He takes things quietly, enjoys a chat where our two gardens converge at a corner of the lambing paddock that unfolds beyond our shared wire fence and, regularly in summer, Sam is partial to a few cooling drinks.
With his back to the sea, the ploughman negotiates the wooden plough drawn by his horse. If he heard Icarus falling from the heavens it didn't interrupt his routine. The crew of a ship close enough to rescue the drowning boy instead takes advantage of a favourable breeze and sails away. The shepherd daydreams, the angler continues fishing. To all intents and purposes Icarus is invisible to those in his immediate vicinity.
The sacking of Croation police chief Ivan Kresicin has seen Britt Lapthorne returned to newspaper headlines once again. Despite our burgeoning information technology, we are still putty in the hands of those who give us the details they choose about what is happening in the world.
Poem by Peter Steele - for Margaret Manion