Stones - washed up on the beach
worn down by years of agitation
buffed and shaped and chiseled
now objects of intrigue
carriers of mystery
Where have they been?
What have they encountered?
How many storms?
How many days languishing in the sun?
What hands have picked them over and then discarded
tossed back for someone else to enjoy.
And what of them now?
Is this the end of their journey.
Or will the next tide sweep them away
to more adventures
Is their formation complete?
Or is there more to be accomplished.
Stones seem so solid, so unyielding
yet are shaped by the pounding of the seas
and the gentle lapping of the waves
Force isn't always needed
gentleness works too
The frail, elderly, confused folk I've spent time with this week
raise in me similar questions
With no one to tell their stories,
they are like the stones,
washed up, but oh so fragile
To be kept and polished and treasured
For they have seen much and travelled far
and their journey is not yet ended
The tide has brought them this far,
deposited them in our care
and with gentleness
we can cherish them
until we lovingly see them
onto the next leg of their journey.
Liz Crumlish June 2010