It is a hard granite place that does not bore you, no matter how much time passes.  In this place thinking, remembering, and even imagining all that lies in the head comes easily.  This ritual has been maintained for almost 15 years, and probably, even longer by people that came from countless years ago.  As people pass this stone of memories, they will most likely believe it to be merely decoration, but to me, it is much more.  My rock by the driveway provides a tranquil setting, no matter the situation or distress.

            The first sensation is the taste of a cherry Popsicle on a hot summer’s day.  It drips down, down on the restful object then slowly into the earth.  That one drop floats all the way down into the mystical core, cooling the other beings on the same steamy summer day.  The coldness of the treat does not last under the sun’s relentless blaze, so it must be eaten quickly.  But even in knowing that, you still become lost on the stone beneath you.  You daydream of impossible happenings as the red drops roll down your bare legs.  As early noon turns to its brother high noon, the dessert has dissolved and all you can think of is the sound.

            In the beginning of their venture, there is a beautiful chirping.  The unknown source skitters from tree to tree and perhaps flies above in search of its mate.  Soon after the natural sound of flying creatures, the ugly man-noise rears its putrid head in.  A person can only endure the ear shattering sirens and blasting horns for so long.  The noisy neighbors across the street must not exist when I am in this area of consciousness.  If they are allowed in they will only crush the peace.  When the loudness does not cease, blocking it out is the only choice.  Ignore the ears, and let another sense take over.  Is that the sweet smell of daisies?

            In fact, there is an abundance of different flowers near the rock, which astounds every passerby.  They see a tiny garden, only kept up for the looks.  The truth, however, is far different.  A mother and daughter plant those seedlings each year for one reason only: to enjoy creating life, in whatever way humans can.  After a long season of growth, the blossoming that takes place is quite amazing.  Viewing from an upper level upon the rock, the violet and magenta petals sprinkle the soil pleasantly.  They each own a unique special scent, one of love, one of mystery.  That fragrance coincides with the natural grass and woods smell that surrounds the entire house.  The mutual sharing of oxygen and carbon dioxide with these plants is not a hassle at all.  Without their precious gas, humans cannot survive.  So why are various numbers of these living aromatic creatures chopped down or plucked from the ground as a gift?  This is only one incidence in which a person can ponder over the rock’s wisdom.  All triggered from a sweet-smelling flower.