The Spoon of the Selkie

Yell, Shetland, 1910 — Dusk. Moira Fraser held the silver-coloured spoon in her hand, its surface smooth and cool, catching the last light of the fading day. Her grandmother had once told her of the selkies, seal folk who walked on land but always returned to the sea, and she imagined the spoon as a small talisman of that freedom — a reminder to live fully, even in the smallest acts. She traced the curve of the bowl with her fingertip, feeling the worn edges where it had stirred porridge and tea for years. Outside, the wind carried the brine of the sea and the smoke of peat across the croft. The spoon did not speak, but it held a quiet counsel: that life is measured not only in great deeds, but in attention, care, and the courage to embrace each moment as it comes. Moira tucked it into her pocket, a small silver compass for her days, and stepped out into the evening, ready to live fully, as the selkies did between land and sea.