BRAIDED STRAW

“I am dragged perforce down to the sea and I squirm, I seethe and squiggle at each step, resisting destiny; but you,” the river growls, “all you have is one flimsy loop of braided straw twisted around your ankle, and still you stand there, docile, listless, forgetting even to yearn for freedom.” “I remember, says the elephant, oh, yes, I remember: and therefore am I cursed.“

It is memory which curves the spine and bows the head, memory which fills scarred legs with lead, memory which - but even to the river she cannot speak of the irons she broke her heart straining against, years and years ago when the world was young. “Understand this,” she whispers instead, “my unshackled feet are powerless to move unbidden, for there are chains which endure in my very blood.” The river only shrugs and snorts, and roars right contemptuously on. It does not understand such spiritless behaviour, and it never will. It never will.