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Whilst the exodus to the East continues apace, I remain firmly in the West Country with heavy boots and pockets full of pebbles and shells.

From foggy beginnings, the afternoon has become clear and bath water warm. The sea is sounding angry; if I close my eyes and lie back I am certain a wave will overtake me.  So I remain upright, popping mermaid’s purses and playing with the pimply pouches.

It has been a long time, too long, since I last went over seas and watching the undulations of the water makes the pull even tighter.

Angel faces and little cherubs line up in the wispy clouds, and then gradually disappear as a band of dark cloud sweeps in.  I think I have found the perfect size stones for my hands.  Little lucky pets to rub and a mussel shell still connected like a love heart or butterfly.  Turned over, they look like a set of lungs encased in a powder blue rib cage.

I wonder how long it will be until I make the leap either East or across the seas.  How long until Sunday mornings are filled with Columbia Road tulips and bagels?

For this one moment I am entirely happy just listening to the mesmeric crashes of the waves and my neat little nest of pebbles.

One clumsy finger movement and the solar plexus between the lungs snaps. Closed up, they now resemble delicate angel wings, but I had wanted them to remain heart shaped.  I will have to go hunt for some more before the bus comes…

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