Skipping Rocks

Skipping Rocks

I wonder if this rock has enjoyed its journey? From where it started to where it is now…and how it got here…however old it is…has it known the joy of skipping across this river before now? I look at the edges of the rocks perfect skipping shape, smooth and flat as dictated by the river it lay next to. I scan the edges to find a nook to grip my finger into. It gives me leverage for when I’m ready to sling a sidearm skip, spinning across this hushed, loitering and vitreous surface of the river. Maybe this is the rocks third trip across. The excitement from those other experiences of skipping across this water has brought the rock the happiest moments of its millions of years existence. It anticipates my throw and as I look across, I take aim at a shoreline where this rock might have the best chance to stand out…the best chance to get seen…and picked up again…the best chance to make one more skip across this water but receive no more thought beyond how many skips it will give the thrower. With a kiss, a prayer and a slight grunt, I watch as it makes its way across…and I count.