Relief

She approaches quietly, almost sneaking up on me, and opens a pocket on her dress. Inside are several dozen tiny spiral-shaped shells gathered from the river shore. She's proud and eager to share her bounty. Never during my walks have I noticed these miniature treasures. Another hand holds a greater delight. "This is a worry rock," she says. This otherwise ordinary grey stone has a notch that snugly holds an average human thumb. "Rub here and your worries will go away," she explains and hands the rock to me. Thousands of rocks line the river's edge where it washes against the earth. I often step on or around them, depending on their size, but picking one up to relieve worry never occurred to me. We walk together with her parents back up the path, away from the water, and stop at a boulder that her father tells me is the wishing rock. We each have three tries to land a rock onto a ledge cut into the boulder ages ago. My first misses, but the second joins the rest of the pile. We keep walking and then, before we part, she offers the worry rock one more time. It feels warm from being held in her hands.