13.11.09
Look, LOOK!   the eldest had called out - we were on holiday and he was much, much  younger.
We turned to follow his pointed finger
to the stream's edge.

It had been a stifling warm summer
and we were walking along a wooded stream
edged by sheer craggy cliffs
and forgotten castles.

There - look eldest repeated.
And there, lying in the shallows,
was a carved piece of stone
from some forgotten building.

Once retrieved, we wondered why no one had noticed it before....
and decided that the hot dry summer had reduced the normally flowing river to a sedate and almost empty stream.

The stone now rests in our garden, gently aging under moss

rather than under water.

What stories it could tell.

Of battles raging between the Scots and the English.

Of Border Reivers    link

Of rich and poor

Of neglect and decay.

Often I lay my hand on the now worn capital stone and wonder what it saw.