The Quiet Water, page 6 of 15

Wrapped in his scarf, Pip sits on the sand beside the greying pool, the marked reed standing in the shallows and two cut stems lying crossed over a fallen leaf, quiet and idle.

Seven marks.

The weather turned, and he took the scarf out.

He built nothing at all, and the not-building took most of every day.

© 2026 A.J.Sharpe