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I came home after school one day and noticed a glittering yellow-
gold object in my vision. A single earring that was hung with deep
red rubies and bright green emeralds was laid out on the table. The
ornate piece of jewellery looked as delicate and beautiful as a
butterfly’s wing. I noticed dirt wedged between the joins of stone
and metal, muddying the shine.
Mum had found something of Peter’s after all.
’
It was a warm Easter that year. I woke up early with the bright sun
gently nudging me awake. I ran outside traversing through the great
wall of mountain ash and picking up brightly-coloured eggs along
the way. Sucking on a chocolate egg, I pushed through the ferns and
shrubbery tomy usual place at the exposed, swampy land. I crouched
down as I saw her, sitting with her back to me by the edge of the
quiet puddle of mud. Her hair flowed down around her shoulders
yet she usually always had it up. I watched my mum as she leant
forward and held her hand out into the water.
With the stroke of her arm, she created miniature waves that
continued to ripple even after she stopped.
’
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