The Pebbled Shore

The Pebbled Shore

Shifting and sliding against the others in a constant click-click, the pebbles beneath his feet made a counterpoint to the longer sighs of the waves as they reached up the beach, only to fall back into the ocean. The distant cry of the gulls, wheeling in the clear blue sky above him on the slight breeze, provided an occasional break from the two-part harmony.

The same breeze the gulls floated on wrapped long fingers around him, as well, tugging at the loose folds of his robes and ruffling the feathers of his wings. For a moment, he stretched the feathered appendages out, enjoying the way the wind felt, then reluctantly folded them again so that they were partially obscured by cloth of the same color. Although the wind continued to tempt him, he chose to ignore it now, focusing instead upon the as yet untouched pebbles in front of him.

Pebbles were really quite fascinating, he thought as his eyes caught a single red stone nearly buried by its blue, black and gray fellows. He stooped to pick it up without breaking his stride and brought it closer for examination. So insignificant, yet they were silent witnesses to the awesome power and might of the natural forces of this world. Each pebble upon this beach, including this little red one, had been shaped and molded by water, wind, other rocks and even the creatures that had walked upon them.

Yet, no one really took the time to look at them, appreciate what they stood for. For all the humans of this world knew, they walked upon remnants of volcanoes half the world away whenever they crossed a pebble beach like this one. Or that they walked on the very stones their ancestors had walked upon.

This red pebble he still held, for instance. How had it come to be on a beach made predominately of pebbles in hues of blue, black and gray? What had occurred in its creation that had given it its distinctive red coloring? What had this tiny piece seen in its time?

The pebble was silent, or else its tiny voice was lost in the sound of the other pebbles, the waves and the gulls. No whisper of its story reached his ears, but he tucked it into his robe nonetheless, feeling an odd attachment to it.

He spared some attention from his contemplation of pebbles to climb over a small rocky outcropping as the beach turned. Carefully watching his balance and the way the wind insistently tugged at his robes, he was back onto the long stretch of pebbles before he was able to consider what lay ahead. Looking up from where he had been watching his feet—he was governed by the same rules as the mortals in this world and gravity was too temperamental a mistress to deal with in a cavalier manner—he caught his breath at the sight that spread before him.

Time had not touched this sheltered cove since the Almighty had created Eden, he thought. The pebbles—previously dark-toned colors—had turned pure white, dividing the ocean from the wall of greenery that grew vivaciously not twenty yards from the water and obscuring the cliff that had been the other border to the pebble beach.

He began to walk along the beach, reveling in the way that the white pebbles sounded somehow purer and clearer than their cousins behind him. The gulls still circled in the air above him, but now their cries were silenced, leaving only the pebbles and the waves to break the silence.

Halfway around the cove, something caught his eye and he looked closer in amazement. There, nestled among the white pebbles was a red pebble, exactly like the one he had picked up. This one, though, looked almost like a drop of blood on a fabric of white silk and he found himself loathe to pick it up. Instead, he slowly drew out the first pebble and looked at it, then back at the second.

What could have happened that two so similar pebbles could end up on adjacent shores? Did they come from the same rock and had been washed ashore here by chance? Had this second pebble seen the same things as the first, or did they carry entirely different stories?

Carefully, almost reverently, he bent down and placed the first pebble next to the second. As soon as he pulled his hand away, he realized that they looked completely right, sitting next to each other—two drops of red amongst a sea of white.

He might never find the answers to those questions, but there was a certain satisfaction in contemplating what the answers could be. It was refreshing to know that, after all these years, there was still some mystery about this world that he could ponder the meaning behind.

Standing, he continued his walk along the white pebble beach, mind far from the present and drifting through possibilities.

Behind him, the two red pebbles whispered their stories to each other.