kin ovenbird They weren’t married long. A few years, at most. But the invisible threads that bind don’t break just because you’ve torn up your vows and burned the wedding album. Which is how she ended up at the hospital. Someone needed to say when to pull the plug and his kids weren’t willing to speak on behalf of a man they’d been estranged from for decades. She was his next of kin. (His ex of kin?) No matter. It fell to her to wield the power of life and death because no one else would pick up the awkward weight of that responsibility. Divorces don’t stick any more than marriages do. Rivers flow between us. Sometimes they run dry, sometimes they flood, sometimes they fill with glacial water so clear you can see the future. We like to insist that we have free will. The will part, at least, is true. But will can be bent and will can be broken and will can be bolstered depending on the terrain. I sometimes wonder if I’ve made a single choice that wasn’t shaped by something beyond my control. I pluck an orange from the fridge and find it flavourless. It wasn’t what I wanted. But I eat it anyway. 260410 what's it to you? who go blather from