The Difficult Swing

In forgetting about a train ride this past winter, I took the time to remember the first time I walked with the Lady Margaret down the berm of loose shale leading to her father's salt enclosures at the mouth of the Sadent River. Her youngest brother trailed behind us wearing a Who t shirt a size too large, being a gift from the next brother up. When we'd all reached the retaining gate, I produced a flint nodule from deep within the folds of my baffling cloak and broke it wide open with one swift motion. Everything that spilled forth now exists in a museum.