Dictionary of Stones

The rumble of the grey pebbles at the shoreline, the syncopated spacing of the grey breakwaters against the grey sea and the grey sky, the grey silhouettes of the trees on the hill  -  they all hold their messages, if only I could decipher them. 

A black and white landscape, where mermaids have traced their poems onto the stones in salty codes. Where the shapes and placing of the rocks, coloured like pigeons, so carefully co-ordinated by the sea, have a significance that I strain to understand.

These things are too beautiful to be random. They must have a meaning, surely they must?  What are they trying to tell me?

I scoured the skyline for the scribble of geese in flight, in case their mysterious heiroglyphics could give me a clue to the cipher.  I sniffed the air, and tasted its tang but it could not teach me its secret. I looked for the perfect stone to bring you, the one that would tell you everything simply from its smoothness and heft. You could just touch it and you would know. 

I remember once I went to a beach where the stones were like perfect white eggs and told a different story, a story of sunshine and myths. Porlock tells of something more melancholy.