a piece of broken ceramic, metal, glass, or rock, typically having sharp edges
They are like a shard of pottery, these bits of memory. I brush them clean with a soft brush. I handle them only with gloves. I store them in my field pack hoping to study them and discover more about who I am and how I got this way. They seem to lift themselves randomly from the deeper places in the fields of memory. They are clues to help answer the question I learned from a Australian trappers he taught us how to read evidence in the forest. The constant inquiry is, "What happened here?"