The Weight of Morning

I keep a small, smooth stone on my desk, pulled from the shoreline of a beach I visited when I was still young enough to believe that time was a river that only flowed forward. It is cold to the touch, worn down by the constant, rhythmic friction of the tide until all its sharp edges have surrendered to the water. We spend so much of our lives trying to hold onto the jagged parts of ourselves, the moments that cut and sting, forgetting that the world is designed to soften us if we simply wait long enough. To stand before the vastness of the sea is to realize that we are merely guests in a house that has been breathing for eons. We arrive with our heavy burdens and our restless hearts, yet the horizon remains unmoved, patient, and wide. Is it the water that changes the stone, or is it the stone that finally learns how to be still?

Dariusz Stec has captured this profound stillness in his beautiful image titled Waiting for the Sun. It reminds me of that same quiet patience I feel when holding my stone, watching the world soften under the first light of day. Does this scene make you feel small, or does it make you feel held?