The Pod

As children we stand barefoot on the slippery edges of rock pools. Seaweed slipping between our toes. Or perhaps we lie stretched out with our bellies against a warm jetty as we peer over the edge into the watery world below.

Weed and moss grow on rocks under the jetty. The gentle movement of water ruffling the plants like the hair of trolls deep in slumber.

A slow flotilla of water snails make their way across the lake bed.

Fish dart in and out, the sun flashing on their scales as they flit between the cover of bobbing water lilies.

Birds call high above. There is the trickle of a stream joining the lake but otherwise all is quiet and peaceful.

Fingers trail in the cool, silky water.

In the shallows, something other than fish catches the light.

A magical object sits between the rocks. It feels heavy and smooth and undeniably special.

An object washed ashore from the depths below. Something to marvel at. To hold close.
To cherish.

Something to hold your precious things. The tiny snail shells, small, glittery stones and precious seeds. A five leaf clover perhaps or a favourite bead. The daily treasures of a life.