Ace of Swords tarot design with dagger and roses

The crown came off the blade last Tuesday, when the tent lost its king pole in the wind over Stockport. Mother says the Ace is a sign of new beginnings, but she says that about everything, usually while counting the takings in a biscuit tin. Enclosed is the card she pulled for you this morning, the Ace of Swords, a hand rising out of a cloud with a sword held up like a candle. She turned it over three times before she was satisfied.

You asked in your last letter whether the show will reopen in spring. Honestly, I don't know. The roses on the banners have gone pale from the rain, and the snake Dad painted round the knife has lost its tail somewhere in the mud by the generator. Still, the lads from the fairground came by on Sunday with a borrowed van and offered to take the big cage off our hands, and I said yes before I could think about it. Mother cried into the bread bin. She'll be fine.

Something in the card still bothers me. The hand that holds the sword is steady, not wild, and it doesn't ask anyone's permission. Maybe that's the lesson. We've spent thirty years keeping the act balanced on a wire over other people's expectations, and perhaps the hand is simply the one that decides when to let go.

Write soon. Tell me if the Bristol booking came through, and whether you still have the blue cape I left in your trunk.

Yours in the sawdust, Nell