The Rock That Dared to Fly

“The Rock That Dared to Fly”

It was, by all accounts,
a very ordinary rock.
Roundish, moss-kissed,
patient as only a rock can be.

It lived in a pond,
surrounded by others
who kept to the script—
low, silent, grounded.

No one expected anything
from this rock.
Not the cattails,
not the frogs,
certainly not the other rocks,
who had long since settled
into the comfort of gravity.

But this rock—
this one—
had questions.
Big ones.
The kind that echo
in the spaces between ripples.

What if
I wasn’t only meant
to press against the earth?

What if
there is something
beyond stillness
that still belongs to me?

The other rocks chuckled.
Because that’s what rocks do
when someone forgets
their place.

But the rock
began to listen
not to them,
but to itself—
to the hum
of its own hidden longing.

And one day,
with nothing but courage
and quiet intention,
it looked up—
and saw itself
reflected in the sky.

A single cloud,
hovering in the water,
whispered back:
You are already halfway there.

And the rock,
without ever leaving the pond,
rose.