The Magic of Stones
A Micro Fiction by Glyn Matthews
She slid the tea across the table.
He sipped it facing her.
“When I’m with you,” he smiled, “I’m like a child tossed in a blanket. Giddy highs but the sure knowledge of a safe landing.”
He looked into her face and realised he hadn’t spoken.
“It’ll be coming on to rain. Shall we walk?” he said instead.
“Aye,” she said.
They walked along the beach and the shushing of the waves stopped their words, the slow grey-whaled sea swelled to meet the belly of the storm and the first cold spots were carried by the wind to kiss their faces, a reminder of their living.
Midway, the slanting rain forced them to climb toward the dunes and the racing marram grass. Their backs in dark cloaks of soak, they trudged up mounds of tocking pebbles made glossy by the rain. She picked one up and passed it to him.
“Look,” she said. “Look at the colours. Even stones are precious.”
He saw the swirling blues and petrol hues upon the smooth round of the stone and put it in his pocket.
Later, by the fire, he took it out again.
But it was dry by then, the magic gone.
Author: Glyn Mathews is an ex-teacher of Expressive Arts and professional artist, more recently a writer with a passion for shorter written forms including poetry, flash fiction and short story.