my mother calls as I run towards the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. It is unnecessary to warn me. Stirling Point is a splinter of land, aiming for Antarctica. The sea below bolts through the narrow gap to fill Bluff Harbour. I see a rusty spike of iron rising from the waves – Dad told me the skeleton of a ship lies below. Buoys mark the shipping channel. Once more I roll “buoy” around my mouth, and squint, trying to turn the weathered red drums into real live boys. One is making a human sound. Among the rocks I find a piece of green glass, worn smooth by the sea.
casts a stone
by Barbara Strang
Christchurch, New Zealand
first published in Yellow Moon, 2006