A rock I picked up at the bank of the creek.
Old and round as the water I took from the ground.
I placed it back down in search of one better
A flat one I see , as light as a feather

I creaked back my arm and to the side
And closed my eyes
And let it release from my fingers to let it glide

It bounced of the water, ten ripples it made.  
Scratched my reflection away

Now somewhere out there, just beyond that log.
Theirs something I touched
Me as I stand , soaking wet in the rain
I wonder who else, in the past did the same