I walked again on the beach at dawn, skirts clutched around me, bible in gloved hand. Seagulls wheeled in the clear air, but my mind was far from clear. No stone creatures today, but I knew they were waiting, their silent scrolled forms trapped in rock.
After church I dared to talk with Mr Giles, the new curate.
Maybe they are God’s joke Miss Austen, a metaphor.
But why? What do they signify?
Or maybe God himself is a metaphor.
Dancing blue eyes met mine and I blushed despite myself; it was not at all the answer I had anticipated.
(Genre: Historical romance; Setting: Lyme Regis, Dorset)
M J Lewis ©2015
Drowning in end-of-year reports and wrote this late this week when I should have been working. Think I’m dreaming of seaside holidays and fossil hunting in Lyme Regis, mixing up my references to Jane Austen and famous fossil girl, Mary Anning. Then coincidentally I found this story on BBC News of the fossil find in Alberta. Fossils really do say different things to different people.