A Stone In the Waves

The seashore slopes into an ebbing tide. He holds a pebble in liver-spotted hands; fine fingers tracing the flow of time, tips gliding like seabirds over the long submerged years, years that had polished a once rough stone into a milky smoothness. He thinks he might take it home to remind him of all the hard-edged days that had been worked upon with a constant and fluid labor. Then, without thought, he throws the pebble into the sea, his fingers flexing as if still molding a rugged life into just one single wave.