Moving   Ten years tall and dextrous with marbles, I eased on a back seat braided by sunshine. A tweedy man with an outcrop jaw peered at us as into a bowl and my sister’s eyes swam— she always cried when viewed by strangers.   Silence had been refuge, but her tears prompted me to respond before my thoughts grew nervous. The grazier smiled at my answers, and practised our names—unexpected from one who owned mountains, a river, and a macadam road.   We were coaxed from the car, but felt woebegone near the outcrop man and his fountain. My…