It's raining now and the water is covered in a deep fog as Em and I sit around Angela's living room, reading and stretching and otherwise stalling on starting the day (i.e., leaving the warmth and dryness of the apartment). The balcony door is open and the view I am facing is spectacular: overlooking the water and Halifax ahead and just to the right, the bridge. The one Tooker jumped from months ago.

Yesterday, on our trek down to water the trees she had planted in his honour along the beach, Ange commented on the possibility that one day his body could wash up and she could be the one to find it. She doesn't think the Cosmos could be that twisted, and therefore considers the chances it will happen pretty slim.

We then wandered along the shore and the three of us ended up stripping off tops and meditating on the rocks there. Something about being semi-naked basking spiritually in the sun... So sacred.

Being here, I can feel Tooker's presence - it is so obvious, so everywhere. I wrote yesterday to him in my paper journal "By the time I started getting to know /you/ were already dead, yet more alive somehow still than most will ever be."

There has been talk too of possibilities of an afterlife, and receiving signs, and other such things. Life always goes on - but it is interesting to see. Both sad and inspiring.

Em and I will probably be on our way tomorrow. Maybe to Bridgewater to say hello to Dave. Or maybe not. We will see. But we have, upon today's geographical check-in, agreed this seems like a buffer day - of relative nothingness or fare-welling, preceeding a new launch.