Relative Something

That pile of river rock was not going to move itself. Despite an onslaught of blowing leaves infiltrating our futile efforts to keep them out, we washed, shoveled, and dumped rocks around both the front and back entryways of the house yesterday.

For those of you who have ever witnessed Cyndie’s ability to fill endless hours in the shallows up at the lake, scanning for rocks worthy of being picked up, imagine what this project is like for her.

They’re just rocks, you might think. Not to Cyndie. She was enjoying this project in a way similar to how I enjoy putting together a jigsaw puzzle.

“Look at this one!”

I lost count of the number of times I was invited to check out one of her noteworthy finds.

Something tells me there is no such thing as “just a pile of rocks.”

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