Scorched Birth

I’m reclining, reading, smoking - soaking in the sun - on a bench in a children's' play area. Every so often I get up to do a few pull-ups on the climbing frame. I’m in the Alps. I’m reading a book about Victorian climbers in the Alps. I’m looking at a photograph of a bivouac under a rock. I see a baby in the ashes of a campfire. I lift my eyes from the page, drop some ash, and from between my legs a child is born...

To be continued...