Calling All Stone Kickers

Pebbles and stones free themselves from driveways. They arranged themsleves in the path of car tyres on such a way that they were propelled, as if from the barrel of a catapult, into the outside world. Then they sit on the adjacent footpath or, for those that are bold, even further away on the roadway, relishing their experience of freedom and adventure.

What does a stone think about? Deeper thoughts than Nagel’s bats, that’s for sure. You and I skim across the conscious surface of the mind whereas stones dive into the subconscious, unconscious depths and revel in experiences accumulated over countless millennia, each of their thoughts expressed over a century or more.

We are the fireflies who flicker in and out of their lives. But we wear the trousers and the boots.

A pebble on a pavement is a piece out of place for the lovers of order that we are. Things that have moved themselves out of place offend our sense of rightness and so, regardless of the fact that our boots have shiny leather (although other animals are lining up to be sacrificed) or that our parents told us not to kick (although they might have meant not to kick other children) or even taking into account the long planning that went into the escape plans of these stones (although they would (could) never admit to them), we boot them back into their stony homes without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

Calling all stone kickers: are you sure you’re doing the right thing?

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