Saved

I’m tired of endlessly being pulled this way and that.

Roll with it, I tell myself. You cannot fight it any more than you can the moon’s ceaseless waxing and waning.

“Mummy, look!”

A girl’s ice cream-sticky fingers encircle me.

“No!” I silently cry as a boy snatches me out her hand, says, “Nice and flat, excellent for skimming.”

She snatches me back. “I found it, it’s mine; a beautiful polished stone for my window ledge. “Mummy?”

“Yes, darling. It’s yours.”

No more will I be at the mercy of the dragging tides. If I could smile, I would.