Throwing Stones

            Today I took a walk down to the stream just before dinner. The sun was coming in at an angle that allowed it to bounce off the water and land, dancing playfully along the contours of uprooted trees and rounded boulders across the stream. At first, I just watched the sun lower, as the light turned from white to yellow and finally a bronze color. When it faded, I began listening. Walking up and down the stream the noises the water made varied greatly. Sometimes it thundered loudly around a corner before dropping off a large boulder, filling a deeper section with furious bubbles and disrupted sediment. Other times it trickled gently over a series of small rocks, slowly filling a nearly still pool. There was never silence along the banks, but my mind was still. When I allowed it to wander I landed on memories of lost friends and awe for how enduring the rocks in a stream can be. How as humans, we consider ourselves to be the greatest, most powerful beings, yet rocks (though not life forms) far outlive us, despite continually being beaten upon by icy water and worn away at by the soles of passersby.

             Recognizing how feeble we are made me angry. I threw stones at dead trees, and massive boulders, and eventually, at nothing at all. It was only then, in my aimless throws that couldn’t be followed as they ricocheted through the dense forest, that I appreciated the solitude of the situation. For the first time in a long time, my actions couldn’t hurt another person. There was no one there to hurt. I was free to feel my emotions, no matter how raw. I’m beginning to understand that there is some safety in solitude.