FRIDAY 55
Rubbed and worn
by time and the river
till it's smooth and round,
amongst pebbles and seaweed
it rests.
Rubbed and worn
by time and trial
till I'm frayed and frazzled,
walking along the river
I spy the stone.
Rubbed and worn
in my hand
till it holds a year of cares,
the stone and my worries
are returned to the river
and I rest.
(Yes, this is more than 55 words. I think you can handle it though.)
DA COUNT
(Yes, this is more than 55 words. I think you can handle it though.)
DA COUNT
I have a certain beach ritual when I go to the river. Since the sand is so covered with pebbles I look for one each year to use as a worry stone. It has to be one that is smooth and feels right in my hand. I hang on to it for the week and periodically soothe myself with it by just rubbing it between my thumb and finger. Some years I keep the stone, some years I leave it on the beach at the end of the week. This year has been so consistently and intensely difficult I had lots of troubles to rub into the stone. I found the rock early this year. I decided I had no desire to keep it. It was going to serve a purpose for the week I took to unwind then be left behind with my sadness, frustration, weariness, and burdens clinging to it. I had no desire to carry all those things home with me. I spared it none of my cares since it was only a cold stone. It got a workout. At the end of the week I didn't merely drop it on the sand. I skipped it across the water's surface then watched it sink so the river could rinse away the woes and eventually send it back on shore for some other burdened soul to find.
