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Description
There's a story- a good one by John Morrison, that goes with this...shuffling through my papers, I've seemed to misplaced it. I know it from memory but would hate to diminish it with inaccuracy. When I get to it, I'll try to throw it up here.

acrylic on canvas

updated 6-20-12

In a long-ago time, a solitary stone lay at the foot of an old oak tree. The stone was content, lounging in the shade of the tree and watching the world go by. Cares and worries were the properties of others, not the stone’s.
Until one day, the wind blew and a storm formed in the west. The stone knew that the wind was jealous of the oak tree. It was not sure of the source of jealousy, but could only conclude that it had something to do with the trees roots and its ability to stay in one place while the wind was forever swept along. The stone watched as a thunderhead materialized, pushing the wind ahead of it. It beat at the tree’s branches relentlessly. The stone heard a crack…and with a tired groan, the tree was laid out on the earth.
The stone was so angry with the wind. It had taken the only friend the stone had ever known. It angered the stone so much that a small crack formed along its side, because it could not tell the wind how much it was hurt.
As the stone settled itself, it noticed something it had never seen before off in the distance. It was a serpentine form stretching from one end of the valley to the other. The stone could only assume it was like its cousin, the diamond, due to the way it glittered in the sun. All deductions and assumptions aside, it was the most beautiful thing the stone had ever seen. The stone decided it should be called a river.
The stone realized that it cared a great deal for this new discovery. It worried when, in the dry summer, the river began to shrink and disappear. Cares and worries: who would of thought these things would become properties of a stone. Thankfully, after the winter thaw, the river returned to its original grandeur.
The stone found itself becoming overwhelmed with sadness. It wanted to be near the river. It wanted the river to know how it felt about it. It wanted to touch it; feel and be felt. It wondered if perhaps the wind could carry it to the river, but quickly realized that was an impossible notion. The wind would not help a stone. So it had no choice but to set there and pine for the river.
Ages passed and the stone’s friend, the tree, rotted and become the earth again. The valley changed at its slow natural pace and the stone noticed something: the river was coming to it! The change was difficult to gauge but it definitely was happening! The stone’s excitement went unnoticed by the world around it.
This went on for centuries but it did not matter. The stone knew that one day it would be with the river. The thought kept the stone sane.
Finally, the stone found itself at the river’s edge. The river sung a lovely song and the stone found its love grow even greater than it thought possible. Eventually, after another hundred years or so, the earth beneath the stone gave way and it tumbled into the river. Never was there such a fruition of love; immersion, penetration….one. The joy of completion that the stone felt could never be expressed in words. The river’s caress was all the stone needed, it realized, and eternity could not be long enough to enjoy that pleasure.
The stone wished that that was the end of its story. But in reality, there is truth. There is inevitability.
For winter came, and the stone noticed that the river became rigid during that time. The stone felt the river’s waters running through the crack made by its anger at the wind so long ago. The waters froze and hardened in that crack, shattering the stone.
It wondered, “Why? Why with all the love I had for you?”
The river did not reply to the stone’s thought. Rivers do not answer to stones.

-John Morrison

Description
There's a story- a good one by John Morrison, that goes with this...shuffling through my papers, I've seemed to misplaced it. I know it from memory but would hate to diminish it with inaccuracy. When I get to it, I'll try to throw it up here.

acrylic on canvas

updated 6-20-12

In a long-ago time, a solitary stone lay at the foot of an old oak tree. The stone was content, lounging in the shade of the tree and watching the world go by. Cares and worries were the properties of others, not the stone’s.
Until one day, the wind blew and a storm formed in the west. The stone knew that the wind was jealous of the oak tree. It was not sure of the source of jealousy, but could only conclude that it had something to do with the trees roots and its ability to stay in one place while the wind was forever swept along. The stone watched as a thunderhead materialized, pushing the wind ahead of it. It beat at the tree’s branches relentlessly. The stone heard a crack…and with a tired groan, the tree was laid out on the earth.
The stone was so angry with the wind. It had taken the only friend the stone had ever known. It angered the stone so much that a small crack formed along its side, because it could not tell the wind how much it was hurt.
As the stone settled itself, it noticed something it had never seen before off in the distance. It was a serpentine form stretching from one end of the valley to the other. The stone could only assume it was like its cousin, the diamond, due to the way it glittered in the sun. All deductions and assumptions aside, it was the most beautiful thing the stone had ever seen. The stone decided it should be called a river.
The stone realized that it cared a great deal for this new discovery. It worried when, in the dry summer, the river began to shrink and disappear. Cares and worries: who would of thought these things would become properties of a stone. Thankfully, after the winter thaw, the river returned to its original grandeur.
The stone found itself becoming overwhelmed with sadness. It wanted to be near the river. It wanted the river to know how it felt about it. It wanted to touch it; feel and be felt. It wondered if perhaps the wind could carry it to the river, but quickly realized that was an impossible notion. The wind would not help a stone. So it had no choice but to set there and pine for the river.
Ages passed and the stone’s friend, the tree, rotted and become the earth again. The valley changed at its slow natural pace and the stone noticed something: the river was coming to it! The change was difficult to gauge but it definitely was happening! The stone’s excitement went unnoticed by the world around it.
This went on for centuries but it did not matter. The stone knew that one day it would be with the river. The thought kept the stone sane.
Finally, the stone found itself at the river’s edge. The river sung a lovely song and the stone found its love grow even greater than it thought possible. Eventually, after another hundred years or so, the earth beneath the stone gave way and it tumbled into the river. Never was there such a fruition of love; immersion, penetration….one. The joy of completion that the stone felt could never be expressed in words. The river’s caress was all the stone needed, it realized, and eternity could not be long enough to enjoy that pleasure.
The stone wished that that was the end of its story. But in reality, there is truth. There is inevitability.
For winter came, and the stone noticed that the river became rigid during that time. The stone felt the river’s waters running through the crack made by its anger at the wind so long ago. The waters froze and hardened in that crack, shattering the stone.
It wondered, “Why? Why with all the love I had for you?”
The river did not reply to the stone’s thought. Rivers do not answer to stones.

-John Morrison