Trigger

Annual throw-away-anything-but-chemicals-and-explosives-and-we'll-cart-it-off-for-you day arrived here in the land that time forgot (Harding) and, as in years past, the trove was filled with treasures. A veritable Madeleine for the memory. Already, I've had one correspondent tell me that he had exactly this rocking horse as a tike (mine was wooden, painted in red and black, far less realistic and rather two-dimensional in appearance; nevertheless, the springs creaked loudly, it shook with great conviction and carried me off to places I have visited since I was tike; I am certain that I rode it with such abandon that my parents were frightened that I'd launch it over the railing and off the fire escape/back stairs where it usually sat, placed where it was I suspect because no one could stand all the noise it and I made together). Trigger or Silver or Flicka or whomever this proud steed was, has no gone off to the dump. The look of terror in his eyes seems to signal that he knows his demise is not far off.