I picked up a rock
from the bed
of a rivulet
slowly trickling, yet vibrant
It wiggled
It squirmed
in transparent
vulnerability
A larval miracle
clinging to life
pulled from the mother river
exposed to the cold air
This tiny force
is just as alive
as me
and perhaps more so
I placed the stone
back into the trickle
of the river
hoping it lives
How much compassion
do we have for the smallest
of the small
the beginnings
How much compassion
do we have for the vulnerable
for what's just beginning to grow
ideas, people
How much compassion
do we have
to put the stone back
rather than take it for ourselves
