Pebbles

Stones washed ashore by a furious sea,rushing like yellow buses on a frenzied flight. The pebbles washed out lay like an abandoned offering to an unpunctual deity who may come or stay back to make supplications. The sea in rage threw them at the feet of men,beast and the wild wearing of the wind. They lay there like orphans in an enternity of sorrow:then came the heavy rains of the moonsoon,the sad sunday sun and the wild west wind,and they laid their like destitutes. Then one day,a forelone fellow came,wrecked by the sea and thrown to the shores. He squart among the hapless stones;picked one to scrub his callused soles,another to cuddle like a chubby child. They bonded like water and cassava flour. A stone in his hand, a million lonesome stones on the shore. He picked one and in it sparked a hopeful glit. He sighed, andlooked before the sun. A pearl among pebbles? An end to his troubles.