the stone

The Stone

Walking down a country road, I picked up a stone from the ground. “I'll put you in my aquarium, surrounded by fish and bubbles.” I rolled the stone between my fingers. “But in the shell bowl on the hall table, you'll sit like a cherry on a banana split.” I held the stone tight. “Or, in my Japanese Garden, you'll feel like a bolder.” Once in my pocket, the stone found a small hole. It widened and broadened the hole with every step and fell down my pant leg, choosing the open road over captivity.

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