Sweet boy, there is a stone there. It is buried, just a little, in the watery sand. The creek has been licking it for years, and has worn it down for you, preparing it lovingly through seasons of icy cold, and rushing spring, lazy summer, and mellow fall. I don't know how the creek knew, little one, that you would eventually come, on this day, to this spot, and see this one stone. As you dig it out of the earth, your eyes dance, just like the dancing of the sun on the creek as it seeks a place somewhere else. Maybe it will reach the river. The ocean. Or maybe it will ascend into the sky and fall on you as rain, making your eyes dance again as you split open puddles with naked feet. Sweet, sweet boy, hold your stone, the one fashioned for you, for just a bit. This one stone is worth more to me than any diamond, because now I have in my mind this snapshot of you, creekside, nestling a rock in your hand. Let it go now, child, and watch the water open up to accept it. Tiny pearls of water leap up around the stone's entry point and fall back again. You clap. Your fingernails are inlaid with black dirt. How lovely. Sweet boy, wait just a minute, and find another stone that has been waiting for you.
