He pressed a rounded stone into my hand.
He said, "Take care of this," and turned away
To tend to things we needed for our trip:
The boats, the lines, the paddles, and the rest.

The stone was not like those about my feet.
I wondered at the stone, but not for long.
I put it in my pocket and forgot.

The Huzzah winds along a valley floor
Between thick stands of trees and rocky bluffs.
Its water is a marvel to behold,
Like crystal ichor flowing in God's veins.
I thought of all these things, and not the stone,
But in my pocket it was safe and sound.

And that was well, for when we came ashore
My uncle asked me for the rounded stone.
He placed it on the bank beside its twin.

"As easy as it was for you," he said,
"To bring this back to where I picked it up,
So light you sit within your Maker's hand.
The stone was not aware you carried it,
And sometimes we are just the same. But He
Is wise, and kind, and big and strong enough
To bring you safely to your journey's end.
We're going where we came from." So he said.

I miss him, but I know we'll meet again.