STONES IN PONDS

I went for a walk last night. A little way outside of the village, there's a lake nestled between the trees. It's like a hidden nature reserve, a secret treasure trove of wonder. Ducks and geese peck at the water's edge and swans fly gracefully overhead, sometimes skimming their great wings across the smooth water. There are fields with horses, wild-flowers, wooden benches and the backs of posh-houses; there are noisy grebes, furious hilarious mallards and tiny rabbits that dart between the whispering trees. It takes around half-an-hour to walk around the lake, and it's a beautiful place to get your thoughts together.

There was nobody else there last night. Just me and the half-moon.

As the dusk gathered and the sun disappeared behind wispy golden clouds, I watched the bright orange disc sink silently into the night. I was on a roughly-hewn wooden bench on the far side of the lake. Slowly went the sun, winking through the trees.

There are two stones now: two stones in two ponds. The first hit the water hard, just a couple of weeks ago. For six months it had been plummeting unseen, a meteor accelerating through the tranquil air with deadly silent speed. It lies buried in the sand now, grotesquely lodged under the turbulent waters while its terrible ripples crash over all of us who could not have seen it coming.

Then, the other day, another awful mess pounded my world. My Mum came into the lounge, clutching the phone with tears streaming down her face. Until a number of things happen, I'm unable to go into details, but it is pretty terrible. This stone, closer to home than the last but just as dreadful, has shattered the surface, pierced the thin film of unity we thought we had, and is spinning through the murky water. The ripples are gathering speed as we watch. I have never felt this heavy before.

The half-moon was bright. A star popped into the fading sky. The trees shivered and the lake was slowly turning silver with the night's arrival. I knew what I was there for. I began to pray. Like I've never prayed before.

-

I opened my eyes. An owl hooted. The sky was black and the thin wisps of cloud had become slender fingers clutching at the stars. I shuddered. Then almost instinctively I stood up, bent over and picked up a small stone from the path. It was hard to see it, but I could feel its rough, misshapen surface.

"Cast your burdens," said a small quiet voice in my head. I know that voice.

"But it's stones in ponds that caused this mess!" I protested, clasping the cold earthy pebble in a fist. How will that help? Silence. Then the wind sighed through the leaves, rippling and rising on the breeze as though the trees were somehow chattering and chuckling at me. I sighed. Reluctantly, I pulled my arm back and threw that little stone as hard as I could towards the inky water. It plopped into the lake.

I felt lighter, somehow. Out there in the darkness, the concentric circles, the impact ripples must have been wobbling across the surface, growing and changing, dissipating. Perhaps, I thought, there are some good ways to make a difference - even when you can't see it. Perhaps not every stone in the pond has to be a great and terrible event. Maybe some moments are opportunities for something good, something better happening. Maybe some misshapen stones actually should be thrown to the bottom of the lake in the deep waters of forgiveness and forgetting. Maybe I can make a difference for good. Cast your burdens...

I think things will be OK.