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I am a river stone.

I hold a beautiful river stone in my hand.

This one is almost translucent.

The stone is so rounded and smooth,

Polished by perhaps millenia of water flowing over it

Day and night, winter and summer, unceasing.

Whether stormy above or in gentle sun,

Whether there was a coating of ice above, or a rushing torrent,

Water flowed over the stones, polishing them each moment.

The same water drops never flow over the riverbed twice,

So each day is a new encounter.

I am a river stone, polished by days, no two ever similar.

Polished each day through the passing seasons and years.

Some say that the river stone is worn, but others see it polished.

The flow of days polishes the soul. 

To one set of eyes, it might be considered worn down.

But to my eyes it is a thing of beauty polished by the endless flows of life.

May we see the beauty in the flow

And in the soul it polishes.

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