They just sit there. Perhaps that is their purpose. And the moving waters keep lashing against them. Arriving. Departing. Sometimes in haste, sometimes in leisure. Like a bird casually alighting on a branch, and then flying away towards another. Or an eager lover who comes running in anticipation knowing that there’s heart-break right at the edge. Or a far-off acquaintance met at a gathering, says a word or two, and then mingles into the crowd, just like those absent-minded waves…
And they wait there. For the passers-by to come and watch the play. They are the ones who give the sea its sound. For without them, the sea would be silent. Without them, the water won’t break into a million pieces, and there won’t be anything at which the onlookers will look and contemplate, and seek solace…
They are the threshold. The waters can’t cross them. The levee. It’s an odd role to play perhaps. Being the horizon. Being the edge. The border. To see both sides of the story so closely. Everyday. Protecting one from the other. And getting blamed in the process…
Wonder what would those stones and rocks think at times. That they don’t belong anywhere. Everyday strangers to the ocean. Everyday strangers to the busy streets. And as they wave at the waves, they would never know whether they are welcoming the ones that are on their way, or wishing a safe trip to the ones that just went back home…
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