This was my day.
Reading, Fugitive Pieces, before walking with dogs on the wide, tide out beach, taking a stone, visiting another.
Further along the beach I went to look for the stone in the carved hollow by the smooth rocks.
I fished it out from the pool, a sliver of gold still clinging, less than a week in the water, many a change and turn of the tide. Then we walked on, looking at the rocks.
Loving the texture of stone, the living rock.
At the end of the beach, where the ghosts dwell the water swirled and light fell.
Home then, to paint a wren and wrestle emails, and think.
I do love old bird books. The St Kilda Wren is such a small delight of a barred creature. And love this film with the sound of the sea. No people live on St Kilda now, to disturb the lives of wrens. Such beautiful birds.