I sit beside my grandfather who was always short with words. He rocks back and forth as the storm continues to dwell. The only sound was that of the wind that carried flurries of snow.
Without a word, he picked himself from his chair and left out the front door leaving it wide open. He returned holding a rock big as a mouse. He placed it in my hands. Feel that? it's cold.
Well of course grandpa I replied, now cuff it in your hands. I did as I was told and gently cuffed the rock. I felt the edges as if to understand its purpose.
Do you see? I stared endlessly at the rock confused. He took the rock from my hands. Look, feel, now the rock that was once frosted from the cold is warm from your touch.
Never let anyone say you are meaningless, for just like the storm changed the stone so did a small boy. One day you with turn a cold heart warm just like this here stone.