I saw it at the shore’s edge. A tiny, round, lustrous nugget attracting me with a magnetic pull. How could it not?
As a writer, I was sure the object had something to do with my imagination, my wish to find a story, but as a perpetual kid, I thought, “Maybe this is real.” I had to have it.
I ambled to the shore. Just kidding. I ran with an eager bounce in my step.
I looked around. Quiet. Still puffing, I flexed my knees and bent to touch it. It was firm, shinier then from afar and the size of a golf ball.
I caressed it with my beating heart and gave it a push with my finger. It did not move. I jerked with three fingers. Nothing. I wrapped my hand around it and yanked, but it was firmly implanted. Why? How?
Just then, I heard a giggle that rose above the sounds of the gently rolling waves. I turned.
Just over a dune and hiding behind the wild roses was something wearing a scarlet coat and a cap of green. It, he, was smiling. He nodded his head as if to say, “Pick it Lad. It’s OK.”
I turned to the nugget, caressed it and with an ever so tender lift, removed it from its bed on the beach.
I held it in my palm. It sparkled. I turned.
He approached with a twinkle in his eye, mischief in his face and stuck out his hand. I gave him the gold nugget and off he went, laughing.
Leprechauns love gold.