Stones
Continued

“Yes, I can feel the difference in walk and the spirit of those
affected,” said the stone, “and of course there is a complete
absence of many, like today. Their echo is enormous, a large void to fill, indeed.”

“Why do you share this with me?” asked the old man.

“Because the earth wants you to know that your burden and sorrow are shared, and felt as well. Sometimes even the sea or forest cannot soften or lighten these loads, so a more direct communication is needed. Instead of allowing my presence to work as a huge bit of stone in the mountains for escapes or retreats during walks, I have been moved to the streets. Rather effective, wouldn’t you say?”

The old man was quiet. Then he spoke, “You’ve helped me before, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“When my wife died?”
“Yes, you noticed.”

“Can I do anything to repay you?”

“When you walk on me, just notice, that is all.”

“It’s the feeling, isn’t it?” replied the old man.

“Yes. Call it a solidness underfoot, assuredness, whatever. I know you can’t describe it exactly, but what you’re feeling is correct. You’re simply never alone, either in times of great joy and celebration, or as today, in sorrow.”

“Yes, I have felt this before,” replied the old man, “but fleetingly, not as if it’s something I could do always.”

“Well, now you can,” replied the stone.

The old man shook his head and looked around quickly. No one was there, not even close. Had he been dreaming? He laughed aloud and tears came to his eyes. As he resumed his journey up the hill, picking up his stride, he said simply, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, always,” was the reply.

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© 2003, David Sweet. All Rights Reserved.