There are stones that, when touched, will touch back in due time
In the heart where they’ll ripen in warmth duly claimed.
These stones are the anchors that strengthen the soil
Of the soul’s inner garden that blooms without toil.
The stones are life gems though improperly named
Because most of our moments cost dozens per dime.
A grandma once overheard granddaughter say
One day while on picnic with family and friends,
“This nice, shiny rock, all speckled and blue…
I will keep it for Nana. She’d like something new.”
She’s not one to confuse any means for their ends.
She just wanted to fill grandma’s pocket today.
Shy of people to know and of people to love,
One can still gather touchstones of living in grace.
When e’er the world, pebbled, beneath humbling feet,
Acknowledges selfhood in all there’s to meet,
A pocket to tend keeps a smile on one’s face
And a strong steady flow of pure light from above.