The boy sits on the beach throwing dark stones into the cold swirling mass of the Severn before him. At the same time his father busies himself scouring the desolate shore hoping to unearth fossils in the stones scattered all around.
The rest is all a blur but fragments of the memory appears so vivid. The hammer to break the stones in my fathers hand, the colour and shape of the fossilised remains, the cold biting wind heading out to sea. All seems so real as if it happened only yesterday. When did this all take place I don't remember. A long time ago is all I can say. Why this comes into my mind I have no idea, but the memory lingers just like the day that I remember.
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