It met his hand about halfway surprising him. He hadn’t consciously called the spoon to his hand. He looked around the table, but no one had noticed...the unusual behavior of his silverware. He hunkered over the soup eating it.He ate his lunch wondering if he was supposed to keep his magic abilities a secret. He thought about secret government agencies coming in the middle of the night to carry him away. With his active imagination he could see organized crime families wanting to exploit his. The heat of iron lying on the anvil awaiting the hammer's kiss. The heat of a welding torch in gloved hands running a smooth bead down an undetectable join. I like the heat that makes sweat run down my back and under my arms. The heat that mosquitoes avoid.I like the heat.My great-great-great grandfather, his father, and generations before were blacksmiths. He had a smithy on Marquette Avenue in Minneapolis before he moved out to Stillwater. I wish he'd kept that property and I'd inherited it.. More

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