The shape and color of the stones have always been fascinating to me since childhood. I remember one day with Mom and Dad going by a river. They were sitting and eating something. I walked barefoot on the small pebbles of the river. I would take them and watch their color, shape, and coarse and fine lines.
Today I walked on the pebbles again. The weather was cloudy. Although It was noon, it seemed to be two hours before sunset. There was a slow wind, and the dog’s voice was heard now and then.
I sat on the stones and picked up a small one. Its color was creamy. There were some scratches on it, and Its shape was unique. I touched it. I said to myself that Every stone has a specific story. Whether big or small. Each of the marks and holes may represent a story. A unique story about life.
Perhaps each of us has a particular story about the life we have. It is our own story.
The bird’s voice came. I looked at a white bird that was flying. The wind was blowing, and the plants were moving across.
I picked up another one. Its color was Navy blue, and its shape was round. There were some white lines on it and maybe some scratches and holes. I took it with my hands. I said to myself that it can understand my presence. It touches me as I feel it.
I left it there and looked at all the stones around myself. In this fabulous world, there are countless stories. It’s just great.
Originally Publishd on medium.