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Skimming Stones to Scotland

One,two, three, four, five.
The stone is alive, or so it seams
As it skips across the glassy surface of the sea.
My daughter picks up her stone.
The wrong shape! Plop!
It drops without trace onto the rippled sand
And her face drops with it.
I place another in her hand.
Round, smooth, flat, the perfect skimmer.
She angles her body the way she has been shown,
Lifts one foot and lets it fly.
Effortlessly it glides along the surface, slicing through the glimmer of the evening sun.
The search is on. More stones.
I press one gently into her hand.
Hopefully pressing memories worth recalling.
So that in years to come,
When she casts her eyes along the curving bay,
She can tell her children of the days of fun playing on the beach.
The search for starfish, butterfish and blennies.
For shrimp and shells and mermaids purse.
Or days just spent drawing pictures in wet sand.
 But most of all about the "skimming days"
and the day, with a four year olds hand
She beat her dad and skimmed one
Clean across the Solway Firth
To Scotland.
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Poetry.com 3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 0 reviews.
Rishank Jha More than 1 year ago
nothing like a beautiful memory stored in verse ..
Lonnie Budro More than 1 year ago
This would make a beautiful picture to hang on the wall.
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