The Gift   Late on Christmas Eve, in the river, in the moonlight you caught a fine fat trout, brown, with rosy freckles. I watched as you thwacked it. Thwacked and thwacked against a low stone wall until it was fully dead.   Next morning was still Christmas. We found a fireplace where you wrapped the trout in a parcel of tinselly foil and cooked it with tender care. You eased a blade along the spine and fed me soft pink flesh which I ate, slowly, thinking of the night before.       Family Day Care   Look at…