I Walked Till I Heard the Tinkling Sound of a Stream

The two halves of a bright blue robin shell gently cupped in the earth. The sound of the train was fading in the distance. I knew where some of those pretty stones had come from, and cut a bit deeper into the woods. There was a stream, not even wide enough to be called a creek, that ran like a crooked line through the land. And I walked till I heard the tinkling sound of it. My walking stick and I left prints in the silt of the banks until I found a spot to squat down and hunt for rocks.