by Ruth Thompson There is something about our bones as we grow old - they get more porous, thinner, hollowed out like those of birds, and light. Marjorie, already winged (her bow arm unimpeded) and poised beside the water seems likely to take flight but then, in small swift movements, sheds her clothes and plunges in. Surfacing, hair slicked back in a heron's quiff, she gleams - half bird, half water-sprite a big thank you to writer Ruth Thompson, participant in WOT's creative writing holidays.