The sea has re-minded me that all things must pass.

As I sift these stones, palming through the inconceivable ages of geology,
I think on the small piece of Norwegian mountain that I hold glittering in my hand, carried by the vast creeping rivers of ice across the grinding flatlands, year upon year, mile upon mile, to be dropped by the melt water and then buried, unearthed and then tossed, polished and ground by a million tides until this very now, seen and grasped by a warm human hand.

Am I the first to have touched it?



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