A pebble sits in my hand; the smooth grey surface beckoning to be touched. The wind blows but it cannot disturb my sturdy little pebble from where it is settled on my palm. There are thousands of other tiny pebbles around where I am slouched but none of them touch me as this one. I’m as alive as this pebble with no purpose in this world, but to just sit there; a pebble was never alive.
|