Thursday 9th February

 This morning I discovered who has been collecting the painted pebbles I have been putting out on the low wall between our garden and the pavement. 

I often listen out for the chatter of small children walking to the same schools that my children went to. It helps me keep track of time; even I hear them I know it is half past eight. Today the chattering stopped dead outside our house; a small girl, probably in the Reception class was bending down exclaiming and peering at them. I could see her mother resignedly stopping a few houses back as the older boy clearly wanted to shed his jacket. 

The girl picked up one pebble, twirled around three times, then picked up the other one.

'There are two left, two, two, two left', she cried ran back to her mother who was encumbered by her own back pack, the children's back packs, two pair of wellies and a jacket. (I remember those days all too well).

She showed the pebbles to her mother, flashed them in front of her brother, twirled round, nearly gave him one of them, changed her mind and gave him the other one, and they ran on along the pavement chittering like sparrows holding the pebbles aloft.

I have to say it has made my day!

(When I used to take the exact same walk to the playgroup and later the infant school with my own children, my son used to pause outside a bungalow which has replaced the wall with half a dozen metal chains hanging in curves between brick pillars. Progress came a halt, even if we were running late, while he carefully set each chain gently swinging. I was a little worried about what the owner would think, until I saw that he was looking out for the children, waiting to give them a smile and a wave.)

I have put out another pebble. Are these children the only collectors, I wonder?