Stone, Stone, Friend of Mine

Smooth and irregular, it mimmicks an early morning stormy sky as purple tufts of clouds hang lazily, some touching the invisible ground, others never dipping below the heavens. Held up to the light, tiny imperfections are visible, like when really getting to know someone. On first inspection, wonderful and flawless, on looking more closely, not so perfect, not so flawless, but still lovely. Having grown fond of the smooth, cool surface and the way it fit in my hand, the way it reminds me of my brother, I'm too attached. It is suited to me, imperfections and all..they make it more real, more like me and more like those I love. Flawed but lovely and loved in spite of them. Tiny sprays of cracks run throughout like an electric architecture with some unknown purpose. Misty, cloudy patches of white, milky in some areas, clear but foggy in others, like Gram's cataracts that veiled her eyes as she grew old. The stone would have fit beautifully in her wrinkled, satiny hands, hands that made a lifetime of manna, hands that knew hard work, love, and worry.