Post 1416 Wednesday January 4
Written in response to the photo from Grant-Sud at Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
I have a friend who drops white pebbles as he walks in wild places so he can find his way back. When he told me about it I laughed. I take a compass on a string around my neck I said. Far more sensible I said. I’m not laughing now.
Let me think. My trusty compass says I’m heading south-east. I want to go back, so I need to go north-east...no south-north...no ...oh dear!
I’m sure I passed that pointed rock over there...or was it that one? I remember seeing a tree with cones on it. There’s one down there, but there's another over there. If I climb to the top of this mound, I’ll probably be able to see the town. Mmm, a bit too steep. Now what?
Oh look, there’s a white pebble, and another. And another. I think I’ll follow them.