I don't know why nature makes things that fascinate me. This is a picture of rock riding in the car. The curves are so good for something. I get nervous about forgetting what I've been thinking about. I get attached to objects that remind me of thoughts. This rock fits the curve of my palm. It has a single vein. When I hold it it holds my thoughts.
I've seen this rock, twice, but Elias never offered to let me hold it, nor even touch it. A thing of beauty, the rock and the relationship, both, how-many-thousand lifetimes? Late one night the rock was whispering stories in a language I could not understand. I wondered why I wasn't jealous.
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