Now we are six(ty) - Words of Joy
When I was six years old, I had a brush with death. It began with a clumsy careering into sharp wooden armchair corners that split my head open. There was a rush, hurry and flurry to get this child to hospital and stem the flow. The chair came off better than me. I still have the scars to prove it. Then, in the somnolent heat of summer, I blithely stepped out from the side of an ice-cream van parked just across the road from my home, my mouth watering in anticipation of the cool treat now starting to melt slow