Growing up I lived on the other side of raised railroad tracks from a beach. The tracks dated back to the late 19th century and due to that there have been lumps of coal surfacing as the sands shift up and down the shore.
Today while I was walking along the beach I found a chunk of coal and laughed as I brushed the surface smooth. Standing in the breeze I thought back to when I was a child and found it strange (not for the first time) that from a young age I was entirely conscious of impending doom. Memories unfolded of finding and stuffing my pockets with lumps of coal. I'd take them home and put them in a bucket I kept in our playhouse just in case society fell and I needed a way to keep warm.
I found a second lump not that much further up the strand. Smiling I dropped the lump I held near the other one. Even if I still had that bucket of coal it wouldn't have been enough for more than one fire and lets be honest, when you live in a forest, who burns coal?
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