Sedimentary Sentiment

While walking my dog along a riverbank
I stopped
And picked up a rock
Not just any rock, mind you
I “shopped” for size and weight
It was a throwing rock I sought
One that would fly farthest and straight
I wound up with my former pitcher’s arm
And let it fly
The arm was still sound
The rock flew far and true
Yet something strange happened
The moment it hit the water
I felt almost overwhelming sadness
What had I done?
How long had it taken that rock
To get onto this riverbank?
Was it a remnant of a larger rock?
You know, a “chip off the old block” rock
Or perhaps it had been someone’s pet
In the 1970s
Now I had sentenced it
Arbitrarily, and without a trial,
To a doomed, solitary existence
In my mind, I saw it sinking
In ghastly slow-motion
Its non-existent arms
Desperately reaching for the surface
Its non-existent voice
Screaming in terror
As it settled in the mud and slime
At the bottom
A dark, cold, almost primordial world
Populated by rusting beer cans
And old shopping carts
Their slowly diminishing chrome surfaces
Reflecting faint light at low tide
A world of snagged fishing lures, old tires
And elderly catfish using white canes with red tips
Never again, I thought,
Would that rock feel the warmth
Of a bright September sun
The caress of the rays upon its face
Never more, I pondered,
Would that rock hear the sound of robins’ song
In the spring
Or the merriment of children’s laughter
Exhilarated by the joys of summer
As I turned to go home
To my world of light, and love
I imagined I heard that rock
Calling me
Asking me
In muted, underwater tones,
“Why?”
And I quickened my pace
Trying to outrun it
That night, sleep came late
And when it did come, strange dreams ensued
I now lay on the river bottom
And although I could not see,
I was aware of that rock
My rock
But more than that, many rocks
Thousands, perhaps
And in unison they spoke to me
They spoke of a world once bathed
In the beauty of creation, of life, of death
Where all things, big and small,
Had meaning and purpose
And were indeed celebrated
A world now consumed by the callous indifference
By the insanity of man
They told me, “Do not be sad,
For despite our lowly status,
We are optimistic. We now no longer live
To be trampled by the foot of man
We now rest – here – in the cool, serene,
Enveloping darkness
Free of prying eyes,
Free of a thousand days and more of
The hot burning sun
Free of the vitriol of civilization.
We are free,” they said. “Free.”
And as they continued speaking, I awoke
Their final words echoing in my brain,
“Grieve not, rock thrower,
For one day the earth shall be returned to us,
To all of us
When the waters of chaos recede
Leaving only those with compassion in their hearts
And dreams in their souls.”
And I smiled
Thinking that, perhaps,
Salvation was just a stone’s throw away