‘Tween our house and the town there’s a road. A high one. One whose bank must be clambered up with bike, or precariously slidden down each day as we to and fro. And cards were there. Playing cards. Fortune cards.

Just litter, actually.

But this card was always there. Face down. At the very spot of my first or last safe footfall, pre or post the embankment negotiation.

And I don’t believe in that fortune-telling shit. At all.

But the card was always there.

Three weeks ago, I bent to pick it up. 2 of Spades. Leaning down, I spied another to the right, face-up on the embankment. The queen of the suit.

Ok, ok. I’ll do it! I’ll pick them up. I’ll be gullible. I’ll google them.

Oh, shit!

2 of Spades: ‘Breaks in relationship… Warning… infidelity or separation. Sudden change of relationship, or death.’

Queen of Spades: much worse. ‘Widowed or divorced… Betrayal… Death…’

Those cards lay in the kitchen, taunting. My brother is climbing a sheer mountain, I worried.

Then I deliberately threw them away. An act of rejection of their meaning. But today a new one lay in the dirt, in the same spot. The king.

WTF? What gives?

This time to Wikipedia. Which has pics.

They were Clubs! Not swords at all. ‘Kind… Generous… Good advice…’

Ha!

Good thing I don’t believe any of that shit.