Not Shattered, Transformed

The tide is low enough to reveal a lengthy stretch of pebbles. Each stone is quiet, dull, and ordinary. Yet, every pebble has been transported, pushed, and pulled through years of restless waters. You pick one up. It is smooth in a way that no easy life could create. Once, it must have been sharp, jagged, and resistant to change. The sea did not argue with it. It simply returned repeatedly, like a patient hand made of movement. There are days in a tough life when the horizon seems too expansive, when the wind presses against your chest, and taking another step feels unnecessary. But the pebbles endure. They have survived storms that erased footprints, winters that cleared the shore, and tides that dragged them into darkness and brought them back without apology. Still, they are present. Not shattered. Transformed. Their rough edges softened not by giving up but by surviving the ongoing dialogue between stone and water. You stand there holding one and realize the sea is still at work, still shaping the shore, still moving even when the sky looks heavy. And so are you. Not complete. Not abandoned. Just another stone in the long, patient flow of the tide.