We used to collect them down along the groynes which met the horizon and the setting sun. We would count them, one by one, and see which of us, seven, eight, and nine, was the richest. Yet Granny never let us pop them, because they were the property of the sea, belonging to … Continue reading A mermaid’s purse
The quiet of surf behind a hedge. The stillness of your feet, calm of my heartbeat The invitation of sea below the ledge.