letters and lattes

A little grey rock is born of the earth. 
In the sun it finds warmth, it tingles as the rays shine upon it, 
new found glitter glistens. 

It is a stable force. 

When the wind lifts, it holds firm. 
A strong wind tempts it to rise, like a hurricane plucking homes from the ground. But the rock remains, resolute. 

It may want to lift its head, to ask the wind why it howls. 
It may want to turn, face into shadow, to demonstrate its strength. 
Yet it knows, any movement would be a show of weakness. 

A subtle twitch and the wind will yank it from the earth, hurl it far. 
The rock would take too long to find its way home. 
It could not bear to hurt others, as debris flung violently far. 
It could be shattered when it returned to its beloved earth, 
never to be whole again. 

No, the rock knows the wind will pass. 
It knows it cannot last forever. 
It knows it is better to be still. 

I am a little grey rock and I know to stand firm.