The rock tilted his hefty brow as he grumbled, “Oh how I wish I could roll down Mount Everest, feel the Nile’s rapids brush across my coarse skin, dive off a waterfall, or even just taste the Pacific’s saltiness. Instead, I’m sitting here in this muddy puddle watching the forest grow.” His complaints flew along the blades of grass, landing on a nearby pebble. The pebble’s crevices wrinkled as she retorted, “Well, one day, you will end up like me, a small, weak pebble about to weather into scattered specks of dust. I have plunged down mountains, been spat out of rivers’ mouths and pummeled by tidal waves, and tumbled off waterfalls, all part of my Sisyphean quest to return home.
Relaxing his boulderous shoulders, the rock snuggled into his muddy hole.
The Mire 