Stones

These stones
worn flat through eons
jostling, bumping, rolling
in wave after wave

Once part of a mountain
Wrenched free by ice and storm
working their way to the lake
miles away

Now thousands of feet below
their solid perch
subject to water driven by wind
making their way down shore

Every crashing wave
each surge that rubs them
against their fellows
breaking off bits, reducing, smoothing

Those bits, spread far and wide
carpeting ‘neath water and the sky
A smooth transition
At home in both

And here and there
the parent stones gather
Hard, dense, smooth
lying dry on land

And I, a passerby, am taken
by the lovely variety
of hue and tone
of size and shape

Some still thick and angled,
they must have left their roost
sometime after those nestled
flat against their offspring

My eyes scan them
Hands gather
Some they discard
but others seize tight

Companions are queried –
How many?
Three? Five? Six? Ten?
Let’s find out

Bending low with
Arm cocked and rock held just so
I thrust forward
launching my prize

Six! Wow! Eleven! How?
Each admires the others effort
yet hopes that they claim
the highest number

Each trophy thrown away
in a effort to impress all
with the selection and skill it takes
to bounce on wavering plane

Some, esteemed at first,
disappear into the watery realm
without much show
just a splash or two and gone

There they all rest in a depth
out of reach of all
‘cept the waves of a storm
seen perhaps in a lifetime

Yet the hurling continues
‘til the numbers drop
Muscles aching and spent,
we agree to move on

leaving the survivors to
be scrutinize by more passersby
who take delight in the effort
just like we who went before

And those rejected
will weather the waves and storms
knocked more flat and rounded
with each sizeable swell

‘til at last
a generation or more yonder
they are seized and flung
with laughter and rivalry

Family skipping stones - Jackson Lake - August 2009