To the photograph on the N11,

THE stretch between your resting spot and Carysfort Avenue isn’t far, but it provides enough distance for the mind to wander while the feet lead. Plastic protects your smiling face. You look to be young — late teenage years or early 20s — maybe we are the same age. Faded flowers rest at your base, their colours diluted by the rush of cars, the Irish winds, the absorption of each pair of eyes which rest on you as they slow to a stop at the traffic lights every few minutes.

Sometimes on my walk from my house to where you perch, my mind can be so heavy with thought that I barely look up at those who pass me by. But when I cross my side of the road and come to your island, one of the many pairs of shoes and wheels and paws which pass through your borders each day, I am pulled back into the moment.

I don’t know when your accident occurred, but your photo on the pedestrian island in the middle of two busy roads makes sure that many know where it happened.

For most you come as a reminder to take care, but for me you are a reminder to appreciate the moment, to come back to life.

Where you are, the only thing you are able to do is watch those who come and go through your junction. I’d imagine that if you could, you would give anything at all to have our ability to move, to see different places, to speak to people. I’d imagine if one of us swapped places with you, we would pay a lot more attention to who is passing us by, the changing of the seasons, the joy of communication.

From Emer

Emer Cronin, Co Cork