Pippa

There's a spot by the river where we can't distinguish rubble from treasure. It has been so familiar, but now, dazzling and bejeweled, it seems a field of windswept diamonds, rubies, and mmmmmmmyrrh. You tell me it's mica and wild roses and fireweed. We walk slowly, stare at our feet, pecking at the ground like birds drawn to tiny, shiny things, increasingly reluctant to take flight.