Plucked Pebble

Forthcoming Publication in Ink Pantry

Round like a gumdrop or lozenge

Old and wrinkled

and yellowed with time,

like cracked and chipping wallpaper.

If it had a smell

it would be one of lingering cigarette smoke,

or dust.

I’m not sure why

I picked this pebble.

It was in a sunny spot

on the ground.

It is golden in color,

like a warm beach.

Smooth like a bathtub

but hard, like a bone.

My two-year old daughter presses her fingers

to my collarbone

or to my wrist

and says, “Bones in there.”

It’s a tiny thing,

just a nothing

from the dirt.

Yet, I picked it

and study it

like it is special.

Doesn’t it feel nice to be picked,

as special?

To be regarded with care?

To spend time

with this nothing pebble?

Then, I vow to spend this quality time

with the people I love,

with myself.

Take time to understand the ugly and beautiful.

That is where connection is knitted.

I haven’t said a word,

yet I understand this pebble.

It will sink to the bottom of the creek

if I toss it there.

Probably, no one on Earth

will hold it or look at it so closely ever again.

Then, make the most out of this immediate time.

This moment matters.

All moments matter.

If this pebble has meaning,

then zoom out

and everything in my eyesight

has meaning and significance.

Everything and everyone

special to me,

is worthy of notice.