The Rock

The Rock just couldn't remember how many centuries he had been in this same spot in the river. His surface was creviced and scared by the relentless rushing of the water as she molded and shaped and dug away at his edges until he was as smooth as glass in some spots. He had seen so many seasons come and go, had captured so many falling leaves, only to have them swept away by the wind and rain, some being carried on downstream as the river swelled and overflowed her boundaries after a heavy rainfall. Often the decaying debris from the trees that shaded him, collected in the deep, pools that had formed over time on his aged and wizened face. Soft moss crept across the landscape and held tiny beads of splashed up water, glistening in the sun like diamonds.
I could feel the pulsing of the river and the rock beneath my hands as I sat with upturned face to the sun and wondered how the Rock had contented himself to remain in the same spot he had for all this time. It must be wonderful Rock, for you to be so privileged to hear the song of this river every day, and night, the gurgling and the splashing and the leaping for joy that seems to be reaching my ears as I sit here in this solitude. "Are you serious?" Spoke the Rock. "Think you could have endured for centuries her never ending chattering? Oh for the chance for just one moment to be able to hear nothing at all!" "Then why do you stay," I inquired of this wise old Rock. "My roots run deep here and I've seen so many glorious days and splendid star filled nights. Many seasons have come and gone, the deer and the fox come to bend over my edge to drink from the river. Sometimes when the summers bring in the droughts, her voice is reduced to a mere whisper and when I am witness to that much dismay in her soul I rejoice when once again the rains fill her up and she is able to shout at me once more"