Seashells and Rockpools
There came a time at the beach to go climbing up, into the face of the haggard mountain, searching for pre-historic seashells and deformed rockpools. We clung to each other's hands as we stuck our feet into wearied crevices, we laughed at the seagulls diving in our direction, we squinted at the sun when it appeared from behind nebulous clouds. The sea waved at us from afar, like a forgotten mother, egging us on. We were young, tanned like a boat's wooden floor, capable of surpassing all boundaries imposed on us by the adults. Uncles and Aunts sat in a semi-circle, halfway between the sand-dunes and the water, handing sandwiches to each other. They hadn't noticed we were gone.
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