Pocket Stone

My eyes were drawn to the stone immediately. We were at our campsite in Wyoming when I noticed it. A small smooth stone by itself on top of a tree stump. It had no business being there, unless placed by someone. I walked over and picked it up. It was warm in my hand. 

I looked at it and turned it over several times. I held it again in the palm of my hand. I assumed it was warm from the sun, although when I touched nearby stones on the ground, they did not have the same warmth. 

I flipped the stone to the ground, and then I stopped, bent over, and picked it up again. I turned it over looking for clues – why was I so drawn to this stone?

I rubbed the stone between my forefinger and thumb. It was smooth to my touch. And comforting. 

I started to throw it into a nearby stream and involuntarily stopped myself. I looked at the stone again, rubbed it again, and then slipped it into my pocket.

We are home now and the stone is still with me. I look at it and ponder why I have carried it two thirds of the way across America. I don’t have an answer, but it feels like it belongs with me. Not quite a talisman, and yet…