Stones Like Birds
It’s extraordinary, she thinks, how her brother can skim stones like that – flip-flip-flip across the water. Stones flying like birds. Stones dipping in, out and across the water like a flock of sandpipers. Her brother’s face so serious. Frowning. Concentrating. Two small lines knotted on his forehead. She watches how he flicks his wrist, effortless. She finds up a flat stone. Holds it in the palm of her hand, her fingers. Copies. The stone rises into the air, crashes belly-flop into the lake and sinks out of sight. Her brother turns and laughs, showing his small white teeth. Behind the lake the mountain is covered in pink heather. Damn! She won’t master this. Her brother grunts and flaps his arms. Spittle dribbles from the corners of his mouth. He’ll never speak, they say. Never. She’s the one with words. But between them, they’re just perfect.