Weight wanting to be carried.
3.21.18 – Souvenir-ed
We met a jumble of rocks on the road and helped pushed them to the far side so they might huddle with their brothers. These were the broken children of an old god, cast off of his shoulders and rolling steadily towards their own home. I’d seen the far generations toiling on the edges of an endless ocean still spawning offspring to make a trip out to the horizon. Those fragments would dwindle till the eye couldn’t catch their sparkle but they were light enough to be carried by tide and breeze to cousins they could hardly imagine.
But these little boulders were adjusted from the shoulder of our neighborhood road and left kindly to make a new path of their choosing. We seldom saw them running off at a breaking pace but we’ve heard the rumble and sweep of reunion cascading down an elder’s steep back. Those sprints made a wide scramble of the land and stole some of its softer features while leaving a few stoic gems lying lonely about the landscape. The ones in our way were clustered and relocated to find friend or family in fairer shade and firmer ground.
Whole rows lined the paths we walked, holding hands and sitting with a warm silence and peaceful repose. Some clever traveler had stacked a few like acrobats, suspended without wire or line above each other in a delicate display of geometry and gravity. We had a wordless exchange to leave them be and kept our involvement to peaceful and less precarious arrangements. The untouched marched alongside as pathfinders and lead the lost to origins unknown. I secreted one into my pocket to help calm my nerves; as worried as I was, he rubbed my hand until I was fine and he was so smooth as to be soft.