We were walking across the park, my Aunt Agatha and I, on our way to a fireworks party. It was the 5th of November and well past the clock change but it was still darker than I expected. The path was uneven as tree roots had broken it up, but our way was lit, now and then, by a rocket or a Roman candle from a freelance firework display
One rocket burst right over our heads with a mighty thunder, and fizzing sparkles whizzed in every direction. I love fireworks and the rocket made me happy to see it, but the bang startled Aunt Agatha and she tripped over a tree root.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked as I helped her to her feet.
‘Ouch! No. I’ve twisted my knee,’ she muttered. ‘It hurts.’
‘Lean on me,’ I said.
‘What I need is a stick,’ she said, and at that moment, the rocket’s stick fell with a clatter at our feet. It was a fine stick; four foot long, smooth, and thick as my thumb.
‘Fair exchange,’ said Aunt Agatha as she gripped it like a staff. ‘What goes up comes down, and, I suppose, the reverse is also true.’
I find the feasibility of the rocket’s stick being used as a crutch hard to imagine but forgive the author of this sweet little tale for having employed some poetic licence.