This week, shattered glass lay strewn over a stretch of path in our park. And Austin fell in it.
He was belting down from the top of the hill towards the river, eager to dig out pebbles the perfect size for throwing and splashing. One of the larger shards of glass must have caught his wheel; or he simply tripped, as he often does. Either way, the piece he landed on sliced through his trousers and into his leg. Blood fell from the short but deep gash, dripping in large blobs onto his blue wellies.
Normally a stoic boy, he howled, and howled, and howled.
His little sister, in sympathy with Austin for his 'berry dore' leg, echoed the wail. I felt like joining them, but realised that a cacophony of shared familial sorrow wasn't going to get the three of us back up the (very steep) hill, and home to hot water, antiseptic and plasters.