Here, in my palm, is a small country. It is green, lush, with trees and ripe fields. A patchwork of healthy landscapes.

Now, look closer.

There, in the bottom left hand corner, is a little brooke. Chuckling water bubbles and gurgles over multicoloured pebbles. The grass grows up to the bank and swaying willow fronds stroke the water’s surface.

Closer.

At the centre of the stream is a slightly larger pebble, causing a distinctive ripple. It’s bright white, smoothed off by years of flowing water. A drift of silt is built up against its up-stream side.

Closer.

There, beneath the silt, is an etching. Water and wear have dulled its clarity, but still words rest there.

Closer.

What do they say, you ask? What does the pebble represent? where is this line of thought leading? I’ve done my part.

Your turn.