I have a basket on my table. It's filled with rocks. I counted fifteen but I have a hunch there are a few more scattered around the house. Sofia likes them too. She’s three.
Each rock made its way into the basket for a reason. A reason that is particular to each one. A few caught my eye. One caught my toe. Others seemed to just plop! right into the middle of my path. So I picked them up. I felt them—their smooth ridges, their bumpy skins. I looked at them—their mottled colors, their moody shapes. And when I felt a smile bubble up inside me, I took them home. To live in the basket.
And then, word-lover that I am, I gave them names. Not just any old names. Names that suited them. With words that suited me. And I wrote those names on them with a permanent pen.
I have a basket on my table. It's filled with rocks. Rocks with words. Together they make my day just a little bit more beautiful.