They were on their way to America, just he and his mother. The others had flown the week before and were waiting for them.
When Rubin had been a child, all had been very different. There had been a feeling of abundance of fulfilment, not necessarily of joy and happiness but the moments had been full, pregnant and entirely satisfactory.
Today I returned to that spot on the Heath as a wizened adept in vertiginous thought. I gazed onto the water from the reliable bench and observed and absorbed.