Stones

January 23, 2008
By
I saw a woman today.
She was wearing an
old brown-layered coat
with pockets covering
almost every inch. She
wore a black Irish hat
with a wide rim that
was long enough to
hide her eyes. Her
gloves had holes that
were spread around
like daisies in a wide
open field. Her shoes
were chocolate dipped
in mud and dirt. She
carried a basket in her
hand filled with stones.
I walked up to her and
asked, “Excuse me, but
what are the stones for?”
She smiled a toothy grin
and her cheeks had dimples.
She told me to follow her,
and I did. About every
twenty feet she would lie
a stone down in the dirt
and cover it up. Then she
would tell me, “A stone can
not grow tall and be chopped
down by lumbermen, it cannot
call to a man to be shot at in war.
It will not be filled with gas
And pollute the air, it will
Stay in this spot and it’s
Spirit will never die.”
The woman went around
burying the stones all that
day, and when I went home
I learned a lesson from that
lady. Respect what you have,
don’t abuse it. Love
No matter what the cost.





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