Literature
The Odyssey of a Pebble
Beneath the mountain’s ancient, brooding brow,
Where glaciers once caressed the granite’s face,
A fragment slumbered, nameless, lost to time,
A whisper in the bedrock’s cold embrace.
The thunderous birth: a crack, a shuddering sigh,
As frost and sun conspired, and centuries passed.
From monolith to morsel, it tumbled down,
A humble pebble, from the mountain cast.
It danced in torrents, spun by laughing streams,
Polished by the river’s silken, ceaseless hand.
It glimpsed the sky in mirrored, rippling dreams,
And felt the sun-warmed silt become its land.
Seasons wheeled in silent, painted arcs;
The pebble journeyed, carried by the flow.
It met the roots of willows, brushed by larks,
And heard the secrets only rivers know.
A child’s palm found it, smooth and cool and small,
A treasure plucked from water’s gentle song.
It soared through air, a skipping stone’s brief flight,
Then sank, forgotten, as the years grew long.
Buried in the riverbed, it slept anew,
While reeds and minnows
