Whispers of a Wandering Stone

I am a stone. It’s a strange thing to admit, but it’s true. Not just any stone, but a small, round pebble, lying at the crest of a larger boulder on the side of a mountain. I’ve spent so much time in the same spot, worn smooth by the wind and the rain, that I’ve forgotten what it was like to be part of something bigger. Once, I was just another piece of the mountain—connected to the rock, to the earth, to everything else that made up the whole. But over time, I became separate. I became... me.

I have no eyes to see, no mouth to speak, no hands to touch. But I still sense things. It’s subtle—like a pulse, or a vibration deep within the ground. The world doesn’t stop moving, even when it seems still. And I’ve come to feel it all, over the centuries.

I don’t move much. Stones like me, we don’t go places. We don’t make choices. We wait. Sometimes, the earth trembles under me, a slight shake that nudges me just a little. Sometimes, the rain washes over me, and for a few moments, I feel the world shift around me, as the water slides across my surface and moves into the cracks in the rock beneath me. But mostly, I stay here. It’s a quiet life.

There was a time—before I could even remember—when I was part of the mountain. One tiny fragment in an immense whole. But mountains change. Everything does. Over the years, the wind and rain wear away at them, and slowly, the mountain crumbles, bit by bit, piece by piece. I’ve seen it happen to the rocks around me. Many of them are gone now, carried away, scattered into the landscape, where they’ll never return. But I’m still here. I don’t know why. Maybe I just don’t have the strength to go.

And yet, every so often, there are reminders of the past—echoes of the time when I was connected to something greater, when I was part of the whole. Sometimes, the wind catches me just right, and I feel the faintest tug, like a whisper from the mountain that once held me. But those moments are fleeting. The world has moved on, and I remain here, small and solitary, waiting for whatever comes next.

One morning, everything changed. It wasn’t a loud crash, or a violent jolt. It was subtle—like a deep sigh from the earth itself. The ground trembled beneath me, and I felt something—a shift in the air, a pressure on my surface, like a breeze, only stronger. For the first time in a long time, I felt myself moving.

It wasn’t much. At first, I thought it was just another tremor. But then the ground beneath me shifted again, and this time I could feel it. It was as if the mountain was gently breathing, exhaling, and I was part of that breath, caught in the motion of something greater than myself. I rolled, just a little—barely a shift, but enough to make me realize that I wasn’t as still as I thought.

The wind picked up. It was a force, pushing against me, urging me forward, guiding me somewhere. I had no choice but to follow. And in that moment, I realized something I’d never known before: I had been waiting for this. Not for this exact moment, perhaps, but for the movement, for the change. For the world to stop waiting.

I rolled closer to the edge of the boulder. The drop below me was not far, but it felt like the edge of the world. It was a moment of decision, though I didn’t know what decision I was making. But the wind pressed me forward, insistent, like a current in a river. And so, I let go.

I fell.

The air rushed past me, and for a few brief moments, I was weightless, caught between the sky and the earth. I couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything except the movement—the feeling of gravity pulling me, the wind surrounding me. I was part of something bigger than I’d ever known.

When I landed, it wasn’t hard. The earth below me was soft, cushioned by moss and leaves that had gathered over time. But it wasn’t the softness that mattered. It was the fact that I had landed. I was no longer part of the mountain, no longer bound to the place I’d been for so long. I had crossed over, and now I was something new.

The world felt different. For the first time in my life, I could feel the pulse of the earth beneath me, the rhythm of everything around me. The trees above me swayed gently in the breeze. Birds fluttered by, their wings brushing the air, and the ground beneath me seemed to hum with life.

I had never experienced this before. In the mountain, I was just a part of the rock—a small, static piece. But now, I was part of something else entirely. The soil, the roots, the wind, the sky—it all flowed around me, over me, through me. I could feel the connection to everything, though I still couldn’t understand it fully. It wasn’t the same as being part of the mountain, but it was... something else. Something bigger.

I don’t know how much time passed after that. It doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that I was no longer just a piece of rock, lying in place. I had been carried, moved by forces I could never have imagined. I had felt the wind and the rain, the earth and the sky, and I had been part of it all. It was a quiet, slow, but profound shift. One I can’t explain in words, even though I’ve tried.

Over time, I became part of the ground here. I became part of the soil, part of the earth’s great shifting and turning. I don’t know where I’ll go next, or whether I’ll stay here forever. Maybe I’ll be carried away again someday, tossed by the wind, or swallowed by the river. But for now, I am here. Part of the landscape, part of the quiet hum of the world around me.

I don’t move much anymore. The wind still blows, and the rain still falls, and the seasons shift around me. But now, when I feel the earth tremble beneath me, I don’t feel so alone. I am a small part of something much larger, and in that, I find a kind of peace. A peace in knowing that, no matter where I go, no matter what happens, I will always be a part of the great cycle—the pulse of the world.

Perhaps, one day, I’ll be just a memory—a piece of something that once was. But for now, I am here. And I am a stone, in the vastness of the world.