The Skipping Stone ©

Timmy sat cross-legged on the beach turning the stone over and over in his hand. It was warm and smooth. A crooked smile crept across his face as he contemplated skipping it across the lake. The sun was beginning it’s descent. The sky was a warm orange with the glow of yellow around the sun and the hint of purple around the clouds. The lake was smooth as glass. Skipping that stone would make at least five, maybe six or more skips. Timmy delighted in that thought, but yet, letting the stone go would make him sad. There was something about this particular stone. The shape was oval, not too flat. The edges were smooth and rounded. It fit nicely in his small hand.

The crickets were starting to chirp and Timmy could hear the bullfrogs over by the reeds. A loon called it’s sad sound somewhere on the other side of the lake. It was comforting here on the beach. This was his favorite time of day. He could hear the drone of motors as the fishermen started back to their cabins.

‘What was it that Grandpa used to say?’ he thought. ‘Oh yeah, red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky at morn, sailors take warn’.

The shadows were growing longer as the sun dipped lower. He continued turning the stone over in his hand, studying the smooth contours, reveling in the warmth.

“Timmy, supper” called his mother.

Timmy got up, thought about what he should do with this stone, then shoved it into his pocket.