Something out of nothing

There is such joy in skimming stones. Even in the searching and gathering; seeking rounded narrow discs. You need a calm moon, with the tide as peaceful as a millpond. Water as calm and misty as the eyes of a sated lover. Thigh-deep, launching stones as fisherfolk cast their nets. Each stone, caressed between fingers…

Skimming

I don’t like skimming the open sea. Mermaids snatch my stones. I prefer rock pools. Calm. Collected. Free of ripples (apart from my own). I savour every bounce. Every one. Even the ricochets (I love that word). Do the stones cheer as they fly? After millenia of shaping. I hope so. My soul cheers as…