A case of mistaken identity. That was our prompt at the Weymouth Writing Matters group and I was wondering what sort of a tale I might make of it as I strolled across the Ferry Bridge and along the harbour edge on my way to visit the café on the beach. Mistaken identities, of course, happen all the time in life, and as I walked I saw a pebble on the strand line suddenly sprout little orange legs and run off. As I watched, a dozen more pebbles sprouted identical legs and trotted after it. Not pebbles, of course – turnstones.
There was a whole flock of these little wading birds minding their own business feeding along the beach, turning pebbles as the name suggests. Nature does love to deceive the eye, of course. But it did set me thinking.
How much do we miss when we look at things?…
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