Old friend

Growing up on an island, you learn how to amuse yourself. When I had no-one to play with, pebbles were my friends. I’d give them names and carry them around in my pocket. My cardigans were always out of shape. You’d hear me before you saw me.

I’m not sure what happened to them all but I caught up with one of them on Findhorn beach last week. She’d obviously moved around a lot and been worn down by life: the broken capillaries that stained her pallor a sure sign of rough living.

I couldn’t leave her there so I took her home with me. She’s here beside me now.

© Shona Main 2010

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