Stones – Image by KL Caley: “For visually challenged writers, the image shows some stones located in the grassland which is surrounded by hills.”
As I stood in the field, I felt Tamasin slip his hand into mine. “Hello, old love,” I whispered. His fingers squeezed tighter for an instant.
I let go and knelt down, “Our stones still lay as we left them.” I brushed a tear from my cheek, or was that Tamasin’s fingers?
“But then, you have been watching, have you not? So that no stray goat overturns one, or boy seeks to pile into a message-cairn for his friends.” I picked one up; grass had nare even o’grown it. As I stood, Tamasin placed his arm around my shoulder, “Remember.”
How could I forget – first love, first laying with someone, first bitterness at parting.
“Once that was, can be again.”
I laughed, pulling away. “For you, it will ever be so,” I said, turning to look at the thin veil of the young man I’d loved. Still at 20 years or so; hair untouched by grey, body unbent by time.
He smiled, holding out one hand, while the other balanced a love rock. I knelt again, waiting for the blow that would join us. Again. And forever.
In one of my macabre poe-ish moods when I conjured this up for KL Caley’s #writephoto – stones:
“Welcome to the weekly #writephoto prompt!
‘There is life in a stone. Any stone that sits in a field or lies on a beach takes on the memory of that place.’ Andy Goldsworthy
What memories do these stones hold? How did they get there? Do they have a purpose?”