On a log above the chafing tides, I met a worn stone resting in the sun. Only a foot or so of sand spared his perch from the encroaching waves, so I sat briefly with my new friend.
“How did you come to this place?” I enquired.
“Before you, there was another,” he replied. “She set me gently on this spot, a kind act with a cruel shadow, and now I rest ensconced in the sunset.”
“Isn’t this a pleasant pause? Hasn’t the surf refined you enough?” I asked.
“Do you see my flaw, that gap upon my curve? It’s well-worn, I grant you, but if you allow me further reprieve, I shall remain the same. However, if you commit me to the certainty of the surf, perhaps the churning stones below will wear my blemish away.”
My head drooped, and I could feel the sand shifting beneath us. I thought of my own flaws, then scooped up my friend and tossed him into the receiving foam. With wisdom beyond my fathom, he settled into his jumbled routine, and I, well I walked away from those crashing tumblers and wondered why I feared them so.