The rattle of pebbles on the shore
Under the receding wave.
Aug 18, 2023-- "Whenever I'm outside for more than ten minutes I start picking up rocks. In Patagonia, in Phoenix, in a Home Depot parking lot -- my gaze is invariably sucked downward into the gravel. I weigh the merits of pebbles by some fickle and mutable aesthetic and either pitch them back or pocket them and stack them among hundreds of their brethren on the counter behind our kitchen sink like fortifications against an army of tiny invaders. Pebbles from Canada, pebbles from Cleveland, pebbles from carriageways in Caledonia. Maybe the echoes of miners reverberate in my genes; maybe I share a Thats-Pretty-and-I-Want-It covetousness with thieves and princesses and bowerbirds. Maybe I hope someday I'll finally overcome the fundamental truth of pebbles and find one that looks prettier dry than wet. Or maybe I'm just an introvert, a down-gazer, a bad conversationalist. But every night as I wash another dish or fill another mug with water, my little hoard stares up at me with its thousand imperturbable faces. Oh, him, the stones seem to whisper. He'll be gone soon enough..." Novelist Anthony Doerr shares more in this meditation on time, mortality, impermanence and pebbles. (1414 reads)
Read Full Story
Search by keyword:
When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.
Subscribe to DailyGood
We've sent daily emails for over 16 years, without any ads. Join a community of 155,181 by entering your email below.