After flinging my stone into the stream yesterday, I began my climb back up the steep hill. My hand hit something smooth. Flat. Unusual for this area.
I thought I was walking away empty handed.
I was wrong.
A piece of slate. Slate reminds me of writing. Words. I didn’t have chalk, but I did find white paint. And an old paintbrush.
Today I offer you a word.
A word, an idea, a foothold, that can be found on the rough peak of a rock.
The view is astoundingly beautiful.