Three Stones Dancing - All Along

It was over 40 years ago
that I had lived in that
shack on the edge of
the woods, on the edge
of Walsh's lake.  On the
edge of adulthood and
awe.  Glimmering cool
wavelets from the waters

of life.

Book after book I consumed
at night: theology, tea, history,
Talmud, and the stars watching
every page.  On the edge of
wonder and knowing.  Sparkling
affirmative winks from the heavens

above.

Lost now, even to Google,
is the page I read about
setting three stones in your
pot of water.  Setting three
stones sentinel to the boiling.
Waiting, watching for the slow
change from cold to a roil.  Rising
pockets of steam bubbling

up.

Still, down the days,
and even down the years, I
cause myself to pause myself
to set three stones in a pot
when it is meant to boil at a
camp for tea.  Capturing my
soul for a listening to the
pebbles' arising dance on

the bottom.

It takes a hard desire to slow
the world to hear the dancing;
it takes a force of ALL to cease
the clambering to even care.

Across the days,

across the years,
set yourself to finding
the grandeur in the infinitesimal,

to coaxing out the wonder from
under that small palm full
of dirt.  It is in there,

all along.  Just like the song
hidden under the pebbles
in the bottom of the pan;

all along.