I plucked a
cool grey stone
from the stream's sleepy bed.
A perfect stone-skipping stone—
flat and smooth—
good for at least five skips, I guessed.
I turned it over in my palm,
ran my thumb around
its polished contours.
I imagined its journey—
dislodged from river's bottom,
heaved, propelled, smashed by punishing torrents.
Until somehow, its once-jagged edges now rounded,
it emerged downstream with a new purpose:
defining and shaping the water.
Even the strongest gales
and most raging rapids
From space, the Colorado River
looks like a 1,400 mile scar,
but it also carved the Grand Canyon.