There Once Was A Pebble

There once was a pebble who tried to make gold.

Pebble walked and walked until he met Tree.

“What's your name, and what are you doing?” asked Tree.

“My name’s Pebble, and I want to make gold, you see. Do you know how to make gold?”

Tree looked at him, a little confused, and said, “I don’t know how to make any gold. But I can tell you how to make a table. Others will come to join you there. Just be careful with the wood you choose. Pick from the ground and from trees that have stopped growing. Do not harm the ones that still have leaves.”

Pebble looked around the forest until he found the best pieces of old branches to start building his table. He was careful not to take from the trees that still had singing through their leaves.

He worked and worked. Sanded and sawed. He knocked his head and broke a few pieces of himself in the process. And at the end, there stood a table.

Tree looked at Pebble and said, “That is a beautiful little table you’ve got there. Are you proud of what you’ve made?”

“I don’t know,” said Pebble. “I wanted it to be gold. I don’t think my hands can make gold.”

“Well,” said Tree, “this table will be a place where many forest creatures come to have their dinner and chitter about what they’ve seen. If you do not mind it, you can leave it right here.”

“I do not mind it,” said Pebble. “I will try again tomorrow. Perhaps with something different.”

The next morning, as Pebble strolled along the road, he came across the prettiest songbird. He listened to her melody and wondered if others could hear the gold in her sound.

“Good morning,” she sang. “Who are you, and what are you doing?”

“I’m Pebble, and I want to make gold. I can hear gold in your song. Can you help me make gold?”

“I don’t know how to make any gold, but I can teach you how to sing. Would you like to try?” asked Songbird.

Pebble thought about it for a moment, and since he heard the gold in her song, he thought perhaps if she taught him how to sing, he could make gold the same way.

“Yes, please! Would you be so kind and teach me how to sing?”

Songbird laughed, which also sounded like a melody. She started to teach Pebble all the different notes: how to go up and down and remember the words; how to listen to what is in his heart and let his voice match it with a song.

Late into the afternoon they worked. A few rabbits stopped by to listen, and just like Pebble, they were amazed. Pebble knew they could hear the gold in Songbird’s song too.

“Are you proud of your singing?” asked Songbird.

“I don’t know,” said Pebble. “I wanted it to be gold, like when you sing. I don’t think my voice can make gold.”

Songbird looked a little sad but greeted him for the night. “I loved your song,” she said, “don’t lose your voice along the way.”

As Pebble rested, fireflies lulled him to sleep with their glows and dancing. He dreamed of making gold so those he loved could be proud of him and he could give back all they’d given him.

As Sun shone brightly, he woke Pebble as if to say that there’s gold to be made today. Perhaps, thought Pebble, I can ask Sun how he shines so brightly and turns everything gold that his light touches.

“Good morning, Sun,” said Pebble.

“Good morning, Pebble,” said Sun. “I shine especially bright for you today.”

“Thank you,” said Pebble, although he did not know why Sun would shine for him today. “Can you teach me to turn everything gold like you?”

Sun smiled at Pebble, leaned a little closer, and said, “I can help you, but you need to lean a little closer. You see, the gold I make comes from all the love I have in my heart. What is in your heart that can help you burn?”

“I don’t know,” said Pebble. “I just want to make gold, like you. If I come closer, will it hurt?”

“Perhaps,” said the sun, “but only for a little while.”

Pebble leaned closer, bit by bit, until he couldn’t stand Sun’s heat any longer. All of the mud and dirt melted off of him instead. As he looked at his hands, how dirty they had become, he struggled to imagine any gold come from them.

Pebble sat on the grass and cried and cried. “I just want to make gold. Why is it so hard? I can’t do it with my hands. I can’t do it with my voice. I can’t even do it with my heart.”

Sun looked at Pebble, and with kindness he said, “I think you need to come and visit my friend, River.”

“How will River help me make gold?” asked Pebble. “Rivers are blue, and they sound blue. They rush and roar and flow in ways I don’t understand. They tumble and turn until I’m upside down.”

“Will you come?” asked Sun.

Looking again at his hands, Pebble thought perhaps River could wash him clean, but he felt rather guilty about dipping his dirty feet in River’s water.

“Yes,” said Pebble, “but maybe there’s a way I can clean up a little better?”

Sun just smiled and said there was no need.

Pebble followed Sun until they came to the riverbank where River seemed almost asleep. He was flowing calm and quiet. And there, on the water, where Sun and River shook hands, Pebble saw the gold!

“Hello, Pebble,” said River. He sounded like many voices all at once. Strong and kind at the same time. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“River, I’m too dirty to get in your water. I’ve wanted to make gold, and all I could do was make a table, sing a song, and get dirt all over. I cannot make gold, I’ve discovered. Now I have nothing left to give or do. But perhaps you could wash me clean?”

River laughed and tossed and turned. “Of course I can! Your dirt doesn’t scare me. Get in my water. It might get topsy-turvy for a little bit, but it will all make sense in the end.”

Pebble slowly dipped his feet and decided to just jump in. River took him on a wild ride. Up and down, fast and slow, turning in circles and shooting straight.

When River pulled him out and placed him on the bank, Pebble felt lighter; all the dirt was gone.

River quieted down and asked, “Will you look into my water?”

Pebble thought it strange, but his heart felt light and free, so he said, “I will do whatever you ask.”

He leaned down and couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

River smiled and said, “You see, the gold you’ve been trying to make through your hands, or your song, or what’s burning in your heart?"

Pebble nodded, a little amazed by what he saw.

“You’ve been made of it all along.”

_______

This was a challenge that myself and a friend entered - writing a short story every month with a specific prompt word and word count given to us. Happy reading friends!