She sat among the cool grey rocks of the Leslie Street Spit,

Ankles folded underneath her.

Amusedly, she hunted through the pebbles and rocks with careful, delicate fingers,

and once the quantity and quality of these stones selected met her standards, she began.

Eyes squinted against the bright daylight and her brows furrowed in concentration, she scanned the water before her,

As if she could just find

the right spot.

a place among the uncaring waters, rushing towards the shore,

That would envelop each special stone,

in its salivating sea jaws,

and digest the meaning of them.

There would be some understanding and coherence in the universe,

So that her wishes could be heard.

Winding back her arm, then throwing it forward with a grunt,

It plopped in the water

And disappeared below the sparkling surface

To darker, deeper depths of the unknown.

She savoured the texture and weight of each one,

Placing all her hopes in the stone, before offering them to

the waves of her wishing well.

Who would have guessed,

That at the foundation of Lake Ontario,

Rested a thousand dreams of one little girl?