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I came home after school one day and noticed a glittering yellow-

gold object in my vision. A single earring that was hung with deep

red rubies and bright green emeralds was laid out on the table. The

ornate piece of jewellery looked as delicate and beautiful as a

butterfly’s wing. I noticed dirt wedged between the joins of stone

and metal, muddying the shine.

Mum had found something of Peter’s after all.

It was a warm Easter that year. I woke up early with the bright sun

gently nudging me awake. I ran outside traversing through the great

wall of mountain ash and picking up brightly-coloured eggs along

the way. Sucking on a chocolate egg, I pushed through the ferns and

shrubbery tomy usual place at the exposed, swampy land. I crouched

down as I saw her, sitting with her back to me by the edge of the

quiet puddle of mud. Her hair flowed down around her shoulders

yet she usually always had it up. I watched my mum as she leant

forward and held her hand out into the water.

With the stroke of her arm, she created miniature waves that

continued to ripple even after she stopped.