I can still see my own tiny hand resting on the smooth river rock that charmed my mind as a sleeping companion for many formative years. Simple colors of grey, cream, beige, and brown swirled within its weighty cosmetic appeal and if given the choice of a teddy bear night-time comforter in lieu … … never!
Neural pathways built upon that endearing stone contain dreamtime fantasies of wild rivers, roaring waterfalls, clear tumbling creeks, and still mountain pools with undulating water grasses. No family member is surprised my life has within it a bevy of stones. “She was a funny little girl. Sleeping with that rock, you know.”
I never knew what happened to my dear friend, the rock. Through all these years it has been a fond memory and a beloved anchor in my soul toward times of unfettered simplicity. On a summer’s day along a woodland creek it is still a sweet ritual to place my hand in the soft moving water and rest it on the rounded comfort of another river rock incarnation … teasing me with its inanimate ruse.
~ Eve ~
The Walking Owl
For the love of stones … and more …