As my husband Terry and I walked along the banks of the Meuse River crossing all the very old bridges we came upon and crossing back again at the next one, Terry’s shoe caught on something in the dirt. He stopped and scuffed up the dry soil with the toe of his shoe. Bending down to pick up whatever it was he found, he stood again holding a very old, very age-encrusted key. A skeleton key that had the top not been partial broken off, would have measured a good 6″ long. As we stood looking at the key, my husband held it out in the palm of his hand and said, “This was the key to your house Marie.” It is a most precious keepsake from those days along the banks of the Meuse. And my husband is most precious as well.
The Key
