My hoard of pebbles is growing. Even though I limit myself to taking away as few as possible and then only the smallest samples of the best. Collection, collecting, connecting to place and taking away, memento, state of mind, rubbing, wearing away, rounding. Water and rock & rocks and rocks, getting smaller. Getting nearer.
King’s Quoit & Manorbier Beach, South Pembrokeshire.
At Tenby the stepped path to the beach was precipitous. I was scared. Stood low trying to ground myself clinging to the handrail, talked myself through it, didn’t look away from the path, stopped many times. Eventually, the beach was flat and sandy, speckled with pebbles and shells - razor, cockle, winged tellin, oyster and a few shiny, slate blue broken mussel shells - and a boulder speckled with grass and inhabited by gulls and a fortress, girdled with more steps. We didn’t go up.
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