I am skimming pebbles on the surface of Onota Lake in Pittsfield. It is the summer of 1968, July 22. In exactly one year, Apollo 11 will make its way back to earth from the moon. The craters in the moon’s surface have been made by meteor collisions. I do not know if it is raining this day or what the weather is like today, July 22, 1968. If I were able to look back from the future, my narrative self would know what my authorial self should have been able to know, could have looked up himself but chose not to do. The pebbles are not flat as are many of the wave-worn stones I will find in the surf at Land’s End, a future self who will walk ocean’s edge and one day find a stone in the shape of a surfboard. Lake shore pebbles are different, but can be skimmed if you know just right how to do so on the placid waters, tiny wavelet caps in the breeze today?
Skimming Pebbles [Flash Fiction]
The Falling Leaf Review 