The Past of Me.A Story by emmajoygreenfor RAVIN' INK, Vol's group. Prompt for 26 October + An insignificant item EJG - England, UK
Wandering on the shore, stopping occasionally
to watch the sun paint waves a masterpiece of silver re-creation. Why not orange-red, mutters she - whispering to a patch of air supporting
an apparent starve of herring gulls, darting, delving into anywhere and everywhere - uninvited. Meanwhile Lady was running, stopping, sniff-sniffing, stooping as if a hopeful Olympian doing floor exercises, tail flying as a stream of competitive ribbon. Busy watching her, gulls silent, was surprised to see a figure standing, smiling at me, was safe I new it plus not one bark or snarl from Lady The words were simple, ''Good morning, Emma. Suddenly but slowly, laughing, it stepped into an increasingly thirsty mist Lady trembled, put damp nose out of joint by pointing it towards a scatter of stones on which appeared to be a small and lidded tin box. She sniff-sniffed then paw-cuffed. It rattled! Of course. Had to be opened. Lady at attention, salivating. I prised it open - ouching my finger tips. Hungry for its scent, she stood against my hip. Success! From the tin bounced a gloss of faint coloured stone. It's centre neatly holed. Was as if time had stolen its heart, followed by a buffering by other stones and the power of ravaging tides. I turned t'wards the absence of the man. How had he known the stone was my Me, fossilised, hardened. Now safe. Held in the warmth of my palm. Sometime the stone goes missing. No matter, Now then - where first? Think time to try my recently tidied wardrobe. Under my red sweater? Tucked between thick socks and thermals? NO! Is definitely somewhere - I think. Tired, aching from bending down, reaching up. Time to sit a while. Sighing, sighing again. I close my eyes, open them, blink - blink again, look down at my feet where - grains of sand glisten © 2024 emmajoygreenFeatured Review
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Added on October 26, 2024Last Updated on October 30, 2024 AuthoremmajoygreenDorchester, Dorset, United KingdomAboutGhibran, ' To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.' Am more a short story writer than poet. Inspiration welcome. A keen gardener. Love theatre, cinema, the.. more..Writing
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