A Small Day Away
I haven't gone swimming or been to the beach in years, not since life settled into the warehouse blocks of Detroit. Most days are boxes, price stickers, and the little routines that keep me steady. Still, one memory comes back when I need room to breathe.
It was a quiet afternoon at Lake St. Clair with a couple of coworkers from the thrift store. We did not have much planned. We just walked along the shore, looking for smooth stones and letting the wind slow us down. The water looked soft that day, not fancy or dramatic, just wide enough to make everything else feel smaller.
Stones and Stillness
I remember bending down with them, picking up stones that had been worn round by the lake. We compared the shapes and colors, like we had all the time in the world. I think that was the best part. Nobody rushed. Nobody filled every pause with noise.
After a while, I sat by the water and prayed. My coworkers talked nearby, but their voices blended with the lake and felt far away. I was not asking for anything big. I was just grateful for a moment that did not feel heavy.
What I Carried Home
One of the stones stayed in my hand for a long time. It was plain, gray, and smooth, and it fit right against my palm. Sometimes simple things can hold more comfort than they should. I remember thinking that if a stone can be softened by water and time, maybe people can be softened too, without losing what makes them strong.
Behind me, my coworkers kept talking softly. I did not need to join in right away. It was enough to be near them and still have my own quiet.
A Memory I Return To
These days, when the warehouse blocks feel loud or my thoughts get tangled, I think about that afternoon. I think about the stones, the prayer, and the way the lake made space for all of us. I have not been back often, but the calm stayed with me. Maybe that is what good memories are for. They wait patiently until you need them again 🙂