The old man returned to the place he had found solace in his youth. It was a large stone in the middle of a stream it had been worn smooth by eons of time and water. He waded out to the stone, sat down and began to think of his life and family and all the good and not so good times they had, had, and as he thought he listened to the mellifluous sounds created by the water on the rocks, the wind in the trees, and damn annoying bugs flying around his head.
Now I know why Grampa James always said there was nothing better than a rocking chair, a front porch, and a good whiskey at the end of the day to do some quality thinking. Because this sitting on the rock trying to relax and think sure isn’t doing me any good.