I picked a worry stone from the beach, it is smooth and glassy to the touch, the inside unimaginably red, the outside mustard yellow. My children hunt for ‘gem’ stones, those pure white, red and yellow pebbles found by the shore and smoothed by the water’s motion. ‘What are the names of these gems?’ they ask.
‘All stones are precious aren’t they?’ my ten year old says. This past year we found a name for his agitation, they called it Aspergers, for us it is struggle and loss, for him, anxiety and disgruntlement. But we all take joy out of the stones, we collect them, place them all around the house, our treasures.
I am participating in the project: A river of stones. For more see here.