Things to do at 4.00am #1

It was some weeks ago that I took the precious jewel from the box in which I hide it - a box which I usually only open when there are thoughts of you and me and us and them whirling through my mind before the break of day. I’ve now rubbed the jewel so soft that it resembles nothing more than the sort of small gleaming pebble you might be lucky enough to find nestled between the whites, greys and browns on a stony beach. The sort of pebble that you might have missed if your feet had fallen differently across the uneven coastal surface. The sort of pebble that, excitedly, you would bend down to retrieve, hold in your palm, clutch your fingers tightly around it, and run back to the seaside B&B you’re staying in.

There, you would spend the next rainy day indoors, staring at the multifarious ways in which the light reflected the surface of the stone, whilst listening to a reassuring silence only broken by the gentle ticking of an imitation carriage clock on the mantlepiece.

Life can be simple like that, if you want it to be. Or so I’m told.