The pebble I picked up by the shore is a perfectly formed mountain,
with steep slopes never climbed. No one stood at its summit waving
a flag, be famous and get a title. This pebble was once the biggest
mountain in the world and the flatland around it was lush with many
rivers. Time is a brigand the mountain began shrinking and a pebble
called Mount Everest began growing and is now a giant amongst tall
mountains. The pebble has a hidden memory and cries when it rains.
Unknown and unloved it recalls when the tribe, by its foot, prayed to
it for a good harvest. How mighty it was back then when full of ire
because it was lonely and cold to be that tall, shook; sent avalanches
of rocks and snow down to the flatland. Terrified people ran for their
life in their rabbit moccasins. Since it has no language and the distance
between us is too great, I put the mountain into my pocket where it
mingles with loose change and car keys.
