Stick of Rock

Memories of holidays by the chilly sea: pebble beaches and seagull hordes. Digging in the sand for hours, watching the water recede and return. Constructing sand ramparts and shell buttresses. Imagining that the next spadeful will uncover pirate treasure. Getting hot in the sun, hot enough to think that the water will be warm and welcoming, striding out into the water which is fine on the feet and ankles but strikes cold to the bone as it deepens. Hot chips cradled in cold hands, cocoa sipped with gratitude. A stick of rock nibbled away slowly over the next few days.