The Written Word

Walking quietly through an alpine forest you come upon a small pond, surface like glass. The sun is reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky, and cotton like clouds are floating in the water. The tall green grass surrounding the pound is like a double mat of a pristine picture. Most people, I think, stop, look and admire. They breathe in this tranquil moment and refuel themselves before moving on. You pick up the largest rock that can be found and carried and with all your might through it into the water. Chaos and destruction sails into the center of the pond and with a kursplunk the whole scene is destroyed.