Stones as Art

June 7, 2012:

Tonight I reached new heights. I skipped a stone, 7-8 skips, over the still waters of Lake Michigan. 

Now I can skip two, sometimes three times, it isn't that I have never skipped a stone before. I just happened to skip a good one this time. 

Photo Credit: Sarah Huizenga

I have spent the past three days perfecting the art of stone skipping. Searching the sand for the right stone: smooth, not to big, or to small. One that I can get a good grip on, allowing for a good spin when released from my hand. Tonight I stumbled upon the perfect stone. 

The water was still, like glass. The sun was beginning to dip behind the treeline. Creating the perfect setting for the perfect skip. And it was the perfect skip. Days of practice finally paid off. No one was there to watch me or snap a picture. Just me and the water. Priceless. 

I have always been a stone collector. Picking up one after the other. Finding a hint of beauty even in the dullest of stones. I let the water wash over the stone to let its true identity shine. 

I was that little girl on the beach picking up stones until my tiny hands could hold no more. I would bring each one home with me, not wanting to leave any behind. 

With my love for stones one would think I should have gone into the field of geology. But the thing is I don't care about how the stone formed, what glacier smoothed it, or what kind of it is. I like stones for their beauty, their color, their pattern. To me stones are art, not science. They are little pieces of art that litter the beach; God's gift of beauty to the shoreline. A gift I don't feel the need to examine or study, but rather, to enjoy.