And I thought about what was going on when I laid those stones down.
I can’t help how I am, I often have sentimental attachments to strange things, and none to the things people might think I would have an attachment too.
Anyway, now that you know that, back to the story…I moved some stones the other night. These stones were not the centerpiece of my garden, but because of how they were laid, and the people there at the time I laid them down, they were precious to me. I can remember digging the trench, the chill in the air, the sweat on my back, the smell of the earth, the feel of the stone in my hand, the weight, explaining my garden theme, and the helping hands that put the stone in place with me. I wish I could let things like that go, but they always haunt me.
Anyway, the stones have been moved, and that has enabled me to attach new memories to those stones. That’ the thing, with stones and memories, they can be moved, and be piled into layers, left in corners to be forgotten, found again and placed under a light to see them again.
Stones are funny things. When placed in a garden they can take on different attributes from different angles. In fact, they can elicit different feelings when viewed under different light, seen under a different context, and also depending on what surrounds them. Memories too are funny things, and over time the memories, as the stones, get the rough edges smoothed out, and can be seen in the different light of sunset as opposed to sunrise or noon. So many things change, but the stone stays, weathered, changed, but intact.
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