The little things

It has been, as Mr Burns of last night's fame would possibly say, a dreicht old day. Grey and damp, I sat in the car by the beach debating whether it was worth getting out or not. As ever, when out in it, things weren't as bad as they might have seemed whilst procrastinating.
Not however a day for photos of glorious beaches or majestic mountains and for once there was little or no light. Even the birds were a bit thin on the ground, or in the air. I was struggling for my blip until just before getting back to the car when I saw this stone on the shoreline. At first I thought the red veins were inside the quartz pebble but soon realised my error. Even knowing that, still the impression was of some living being from a science fiction horror movie pulsing away on the shore, the whiteness of the quartz standing out with the red algae against the sombreness of the day itself. You can understand why in the Iron and Bronze Ages, quartz pebbles held a special place in their rituals.