Even the greyest of days have their charms. But today, in this warm winter’s respite, as I hold your hand, and our feet trample the fallen leaves, and our words commingle and echo under the blue dome sky – as if to you I’m bequeathing life and wisdom – there’s none more perfect than this.

What a fortuitous time it was for a blackout. I was about nine, and it was my first Christmas and only a few months deep with my foster family. Decent, staunchly religious people. Except for the older kids, who hid their depravity but not their inveigling influence under freshly starched and ironed Sunday clothes. WhoContinue reading