The glide and swivel of young bones: the fluidity of motion. They took turns swinging on the rope, skipping stones across the muddied stream, rushing through the underbrush. It was as if their veins were filled with air, their joints with straw. Their bodies were liquid, and they danced to whatever breeze animated them. They were lightness and laughter. They viewed those days through a prism, a time before the light was broken.
***Excerpt from a novel-in-progress, The Stone Age***