A Forest Rock


The rock in the woods was beautiful. There was the desire to pick it up and carry it home. It would look nice there. Other days, other mornings, other rocks were seen in the woods too. The idea of having this particular rock in the yard was good; it would be good to be able to see it every day. But, it was also possible to leave it right there in the woods. Some mornings when he walked, he might see it; some mornings, not. It didn’t matter where it was to be beautiful. And besides, the idea of owning a particular piece of land and to have this rock inside that area that had been surveyed by men and their equipment probably decades ago, and to have a little paper map somewhere folded up in a folder in a file cabinet with the readings on it, and to have paid money to call this land ‘his’ and the woods where he walked ‘not his’ where he walked anyway alone every morning and never saw anybody, there was just no point at all in moving the rock.

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