four stones on the ice
Somebody was here. Somebody, for inexplicable reasons, tossed stones onto the frozen surface of the Glenmore Reservoir. Those four stones will remain there, a mute testament to the existence of that unknown person. Spring, though, always arrives. The ice will melt, the stones will drop through to the bottom of the reservoir, where they will eventually be covered by silt and lie forever undisturbed. No sign will remain that this anonymous stone-thrower was ever there.
Some may see this as a parable of fatalism, of the futility of action. But life is an ongoing process of slowly shifting stones from here to there. That the stones will someday disappear is less important than the ability to appreciate their transient beauty.
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