The Pebble

Lynda Allen

 

I roll it between my fingertips,

Small, cool, round,

Worn smooth over the years by wave after wave.

Such a tiny piece of the Earth

It could have been easily overlooked among the millions upon the shore.

My eye was drawn to it though and now I hold it,

And its power, in my hand.

I feel for the stories it contains as they glide between my fingers.

There are many there, that it has long carried.

Now I am one of them,

A story upon a pebble,

Imprinted on the Earth.

 

One story,

It could have been easily overlooked among the millions upon the planet.

Knowing it is small and significant both,

I breathe it into the stone.

Light, love, and breath damp on its surface,

My eyes never leave it as my hand draws back and

Releases.

Through the air I watch its flight and its descent.

With the whisper of a splash it returns to the waters

Perhaps never to be distinguishable again from the others,

One with them.

Yet I watch as the ripple moves

Ever outward

Across the surface of the sea.

All poetry, stories, writings and drawings copyright Lynda Allen