Amy,
For all of my memory's lifetime, I have had a fascination with rocks. As a little child, I came in the house with pebbles carefully selected from the gravel driveway and my Mom made me put them back. In my teen years, I collected rocks every time we traveled anyplace...just little ones of course. When I was in college, there was a rock along side of sidewalk where I walked to class and once in awhile, I would stand on top and play "King of the Mountain" in my mind. When Graham and I went to England and I was introduced to the 'shingle' beaches, I loaded my pockets so full, it was not possible to sit down, much to Graham's amusement and he informed me, "No way could I carry them home in my luggage". Then after I had a home of my own, I wanted a ROCK! A big rock! A rock that SAID something. But alas, rocks were heavy, hard to mow around, in the way or in front of the irrigation system, expensive, not available locally, etc. etc. etc. and I could never convince anybody of the NEED to own a rock. At last, here I am in my 70th year and it took the bravado of my first born daughter to bring me a rock (disguised as a bench of course but then frequently treasures come in disguise). I need a rock that sighs of permanence and peace. A rock that shouts "Here I make my stand". When I look out my kitchen window, it's aura shimmers at me. I love the soft blue of the material from which God carved this stone. It is the color of water and wind and old fashioned sprinkling cans and my grand daughter's eyes. I love having this rock. I love my daughter for having the brashness to buy it and haul it up here in a vehicle really not equipped for hauling such loads. Graham said no matter how much we might have admired it, we would never have contemplated BUYING this bench because our reasoning would have been, "it's too heavy for us to manage, we have no way of hauling it, It's too expensive, it's too late in our life to fully enjoy it"....!!! Bah humbug ... I think I will just go dance on it's warm and welcoming surface and embrace the joy. Love Mom.
It told ME it was a ripe juicy peach. Sneaky rock. Love, Amy.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, \ Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit \ Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, \ Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ~~71, Rubainat of Omar Khannam
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