A walk down to the windy shore

A grassy path led away from the house

bordered by a rushing stream

which carved a knife edged shallow channel

straight into the sea.

It was surprisingly hard to cross and icy cold if you slipped.

My best beach-combing find, found -

and left behind for once,

because somehow,

however beautiful the stone, shell or sea-washed glass in situ,

I've come to recognise that a slightly melancholy transformation is wrought over time

as it gathers dust in a bowl, on a shelf,

or on a window sill back home.

And perhaps I'm old enough to resist the lure of the tangible memento now.