Pebbles

You wander off to paddle

Choosing a spot where the outgoing tide

Has left a small patch of damp sand.

I prefer the pebbles

And stay half-way up the beach.

I'd like to pick one up and take it home

But find I'm at a loss

And cannot choose.

I lay surrounded by them

Millions of years old

Milled by the channel currents

And the wind

To a lumpy mattress

comfortable enough for half an hour.

My fingers rummage but the more I look

The less I seem to see.

How can I pick just one

When all are perfect and unique

Worth a world of scrutiny

Before I dare pass on to the next 

Yet, as in any gallery,

It's easier to scan than to observe

And so I miss each tiny miracle

Less aware

Than the boy who picks with care

Then skims his choice across the evening's tide.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 12.8.22