Finding my stone

Yesterday I went back to the headwaters of the Torridge to select a stone for the place where I crossed the river on one of my monitored walks. What a change: last time I was hear the stepping stones across the river stuck out of the water, totally dry; this time I nearly got swept off! Not until you really look do you discover that there is a whole world in the shapes of those stones: the flashy ones, the beautiful ones, the solid ones, and the one I selected: old, knarled, could almost be a piece of weather-beaten wood, darkened on one side (the upper side) by all the things growing on it, and a warm clean yellow-brown beneath. It fits comfortably into my hand.