The Hand Holding Stone

 

The stone was plain; it’s cream colored surface was unremarkable, no veins, no smoothed crystalline patches, nothing but perfect shape.  The arc from end to end was without geometric peer, its delicate crescent was beautiful to behold.  The stones circumference was nearly a perfect circle.  I stood studying its outline, its ordinary surface and its opaque almond tones.  The stones weight was equally unparalleled for my intended purpose.  All in all, this beautiful gift from the east end gods was about to vault me into the stone skipping hall of fame.  I leaned into my wind up, imagining the exact angle of release for the stones perfect trajectory.  I envisioned the stone leaving my grip and hurling through space -spinning at the right rpm’s to create buoyancy and lift against the water’s surface.   And just as history was to be written on this wondrous stretch of beach, my wife reached out and took my precious stone from me.  I turned ready for battle.

 

She stood, as I had moments before, taking in the seemingly innocuous stones beauty.  She looked at me; I expected to see gratuitous victory in her face.  But, I didn’t.  She smiled at me and said, “I love you.”  “I love you back,” I told her.  She looked back at the stone and told me it was too perfect to skip.  She held out her hand; the stone fit perfectly in her palm.  I lay my hand over hers cupping the stone snugly in our grip.  “See,” she said. “It’s too perfect to skip.  It’s a hand holding stone.”  At that moment, all we had given up, all those we left behind, all our fears and uneasiness slipped away.  We felt like we could be in no more perfect place and at no more perfect time, than here and now.  We finished our wine, watching the sunset and walked back home, all the while, cupped in our hands was the hand holding stone.