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The Skipping Stone

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I walk. Slowly and deliberately
So that the stones strain and screech
My feet strain just as equally
To keep balance
The rocks craft an arch where I have none
They are fallen under my feet
My eyes scan the coast for perfection
A stone: flat, unblemished
I find it waiting for me
Basking in sunshine and glory
Atop a pile of kin and seaweed
Washed up among thousands
Who wait their turn with grace
This one, purple from the rough sand
Thinned and polished from years at sea
The history oozes through the cracks
Into my hands—This stone
It knows billions of generations…
Of fish---
I hold it gingerly
Between my thumb and forefinger
Each wave shuts on itself like
A treasure chest
The crash is deafening but
It makes you feel secure
Your treasure is safe
The foam licks the coast
Mouth watering for the treasure
The tide begs me
Hungry for its anticipated sweet return
I curve my arm and snap back
Sending the stone sailing
It hops once, twice, again
Nature’s own da Vinci float
For a fleeting moment
And then it disappears
Not lost at sea
But given a chance to begin again





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