Brushing some dirt from the top, the man pulled at the grass that grew from the cracks. Throwing himself on the top and kicking his feet, the man screamed:

"I wish I was a rock."

After awhile the busy rock noticed the weight. Wondering it's cause he felt the texture and the matter. Something was holding it down. But it was sure it would still be there when what-ever answer came. It settled some more and waited.

The rhythmic, mysterious motion puzzled the rock. This agitation was something new. It yielded to him as most things did, but at the same time it made him feel small and very unimportant. More like some trespasser than the rock that he knew he would always be. For the first time the rock wished it could get up and move. But as it was settled, it couldn't.

His fists beat into the rock as his heels raised the dust of centuries from a very small part of the rock’s side.

The rock felt a salty rain eroding it. The strange vibrations reminded him of thunder. Something was very wrong and it made the rock feel very small. Never before had it wished to be anything but a rock. But now it wished he could see the strange creature that shared his space.

Feeling relieved, a weight shifted; then lifted.

" I guess it's time to get on with it again. I hope no-one saw me here. Things will get better." a voice said, patting a now empty spot.

The warm sun rushed to fill the spot. The rock waited, wondered and knew it's place in the world.