Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Sandbox


There was a sandbox at the park when Harold was a child. An enclosure two feet high on three sided and six inches on the fourth enabled the toddlers of Laverstone to play to their hearts content. The play pond, six inches deep and fed by a shallow stream that was home to minnows, was next to the sandpit, enabling temporary moats to be added to magnificent castles with toffee-paper flags.

Harold was reluctant to leave his masterpiece. It had taken him all afternoon and was the object of many admiring glances but Ada was adamant that it was teatime. Imagine how pleased Harold was the next day when his sandcastle was still there, the silicon particles fused into glass as if in the heat of a kiln. The papers called it a freak accident of weather, and thanked the Council (who closed the park at dusk) that no-one had been killed by the freak weather.

Ada caught the eye of a long-haired, leather-clad Jasfoup and nodded a smile.

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