Jumping on rocks

    As a kid, I used to jump on rocks. When crossing a creek or a small river, I would look for a good trail of rocks that would rise up like sheep from the little ripples of water, not too distanced from one another, and not too odd shaped. Then I would know that crossing of waters would be smooth. I would make a firm step on the first rock, maintain the right balance, and move to the next till endeavor was accomplished.

    Don't I do the same with life? Jumping from one exciting moment to the other, and trying to maintain proper movement and equilibrium, or dance even. In between them there is the amorphous matter of rutine, of monotonous time that fills you with fatigue through its simple sameness. And, of course, there is the waiting that wears you out like a cold season. Finding the right path of rocks is paramount because if you stumble and fall in the amorphous matter you'll get sick, no doubt. 

    You, rocks, round and shiny, with motley faces, be a smooth bridge under my bare feet...