The Measure. Stirling, 1960 — Early Morning.

Stirling, 1960 — Early Morning. In the pale light of his workshop, Angus Fraser held an old silver fishknife up to the window. Its blade was long and narrow, shaped for precision rather than force — made for careful work, not aggression. For decades it had rested at the table, part of quiet meals and unhurried gatherings where stories flowed as easily as the tea. Angus traced the worn edge with his thumb and murmured, “True skill is knowing how to be gentle.” When his son came of age, he melted the knife down and reforged it, preserving the blade’s graceful curve. He shaped it into a small brooch, smooth and balanced, its silver carrying the memory of patience and care. He called it The Measure — a reminder that strength, when guided well, never needs to wound. Now, when the morning light touches the silver, it gleams with calm purpose — metal once made for cutting, reborn to hold restraint, respect, and quiet resolve.