Wishes and Sea Nymps...

Did I mention that I have a thing for pebbles?

Of course I have, and on more than one occasion. It may come as a bit of a surprise to you to know just how deep it goes though. I know it did to me the first time I found one of my special pebbles. That was over twenty years ago now. I’ve found others since, and I’m about due for another to turn up - I just hope it’s a good one.

Anyway, as you know I have a thing for pebbles. I can’t walk along a stretch of sand without looking for an interesting one to pick up and inspect for… well, I don’t really know what I’m inspecting them for, or even why - I just am.

Sometimes I’m attracted to the colour, I particularly like bright green pebbles, you can get really vivid ones on some beaches on the peninsula - but I don’t really like shiny white pebbles… or blood red ones.

Other times it’s the shape that gets my attention. I once found a large perfect egg shaped pebble, and only a couple of weeks ago one that looked just like a foot – five toes and so perfect underneath the striations that it might have come from an ancient Greek statue. I’ve a collection of heart shaped pebbles, and one with a perfect capital ‘G’ for Gaynor in a fancy script face, etched into the dull slate grey oval flatness of the stone with white quartz glitter.

I love flat, round, sea-washed slate pebbles. They are perfect for skimming and I’m an excellent skimmer – five is a poor skim for me, and when I flick my wrist and hit the water at just the right angle I can send a pebble shimmying for tens of yards, a flash of multiple ducks and dives, so fast and far too many to count - a real water dervish.

And I’m superstitious about them. I know their power.

Pebbles with holes all the way through the centre are lucky, half white and half black pebbles bring good fortune when rubbed, and pale blue pebbles are pieces of the moon.

It isn’t always about the colour or shape though… sometimes it is about form, and I don’t mean the outer form of the pebble. I’m talking about the inner form, the living form inside the pebble. Some may not believe, but occasionally a pebble has more at its core than simple stone. Some pebbles contain spirits. They aren’t easy to find and some would say that you don’t find them at all - and that they find you.

I have three.

My first is a large round pebble that contains a sea nymph at its heart. It sings to me sometimes, telling me tales of long lost ships that sail beneath the waves. It is warm to the touch and as soft as a silken purse. It’s a good thing to hold in your palm, it lifts.

The second and smallest contains a wish at its centre. Not my wish, but a wish long forgotten by the wisher and so secret (in the way of wishes) that I’ll never know what the wisher wished for. I keep this pebble safe in the drawer of my bedside table in case its owner comes looking for it one night – we all deserve our wish.

The last of these three pebbles holds tight a dollop of fate. Whose fate I don’t (and don’t want to) know. I try never to touch it. Not even look at it unless it calls out to me and even then I shoot it only a passing glance. The fate stone is bluest black, square-shaped made, and cold as an icicle to my touch.

Three in all my years, and all over the last twenty. One on pebble beach in Wales, another on the white sands of the Caribbean, and the last in a murky pool on a mountain in Ireland.

I expect I’ll be found by a few more yet - I hope so… before the final one finds me.

If you’ve never found one, start looking. You’ll know one if you see one. Or you can simply wait patiently for one to find you.

Have no doubt – it’ll happen sooner or later.