Round and smooth, frail but strong. I was blown once, made of molten sand from the very beach where I lay forgotten until she found me.
“Oh look, what is it, Hugh? Isn’t it lovely? Can we keep it as a memory of our time here?”
Forgotten now the strong thin ropes that bound me, held me fast. Holding my breath as I floated in foam spattering waves to keep the net taut. Cast free I was when tired rope sundered – away banging and bouncing till rest came as tide withdrew – then left me there for Grace to find.