Ah, the boulder me, large, clunky, and heavier than could be lifted. Sitting high atop the mountain, it was an existence of non-descript proportions. Birds would perch and lizards would scramble over my expanse. Vines would wrap me in green.
One day, I began to tumble down from the summit, chipping away at the edifice surely hiding a new identity. Momentum carried me with a crash, then a bounce, into the waiting water which swallowed me whole.
Treasure hunting, small hands fished something from the water and exclaimed with delight, “Look, I’ve found a polished river stone! How pretty!”
©2021 Annette Rochelle Aben