As I lay beside the pound the organic sounds mix with the industrial ones coming from the concrete structures not more than a few good pebble skips away; for someone who is an experience pebble skipper at least. I always envied my male friends at the river, grabbing a small rock and persuading it to transform into a water crawler as it made it’s way across the tea colored water. My stones never did that, they were determined to act like stones; sinking into the brown abyss with one big splash. The sound of the water filling the gap my stone fell into, the swift reminder I could not convince the matter to do as I please. The sounds around me now give me a peace as I hear them. The vague rustle of the leaves as a working bee buzzes through them, bravely determined to fight through the grass jungle to reach the sweet nectar on the flower that resides hidden inside.
      Nature always has a way of projecting a determined spirit; I can see it in the weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. No matter how many times they are damaged, torn, poisoned, or malnourished, they always strive to grow. They have never ceased. Not once have they given up, they have a natural hope they hang onto. That they can recover, no matter how much they’ve lost. Organic life, nature, brings hope; it brings the wish of recovery, the willingness to adapt, and the ability to change. Just as the rocks leap from my friends’ hands, and turn into something they’re not, choosing to become more than a stone, refusing to sink. This is what nature brings. It brings Hope.