Skipping (for Dad)

There's a lot to be said about skipping stones

First there's the joy of the search

You walk to the rhythm of lapping waves

The sun riding high in the sky

Accompanied by a friendly autumn breeze

Acting the part of a conductor

As he gently rustles the harvest leaves and ruffles the water

Head down, you continue

Bending down to pick up the odd rock

Stopping to fit it, just right, to your hand

Then launching it

                            ((.))

              

                                  (.)

                                   -((*))-

Across the pond before it splashes to a stop

More stones defy the depths

But no skip to brag to your brothers about

You continue

Searching for the ideal stone,

That flat, circular rock that fits your hand like they grew up together,

Occasionally stooping in joy only to find the rock in question is round on the bottom

Then, finally, you find it,

The stone your hand has been dreaming of

You hold it with reverence, turning it to find the perfect fit

And when you've found it you get low to the water

And launch it over mirror still water

Watching until it meets it's reflection

                         (((@)))

And splashes below the surface

An underwater skip my Dad used to call them

You hang your head, happy no one is around

Then walk again

Skipping the odd stone

But the all pale in comparison

And the sun hangs low painting the darkening sky

And your shadow has outgrown you

The problems that seemed so pressing have faded

And you've solved most of the political problems of the day

So with a sinking heart you decide,

But what's that?

Could it be?

You push pebbles aside to pick up a damp, dark stone

And it looks good

And it feels good

You turn it in your hand

To find that perfect grip

You wind up

And get real low

But no

It feels wrong

And like a pitcher you stand straight

Pondering the object in your hand and how best to throw it

Then once again you wind up

And get low

To

                  ((((.))))

                            (((.)))

                                    ((.))

                                      (.)

                                        @

                                          :

                                           ;

                                            \

Before it slides into the water with nary a sound

But it's just you and your smile for miles around

So you make your way back to the car

Half an eye to the ground just in case

But deep down you don't find one

And as the sun begins to set

You're satisfied with your achievements

Because in the end you're happy

And in a world of dull office interiors

Joy is a product that is underproduced