In the Time of Rocks

Once upon, in the time before, in the days of that summer, there were rocks. Rocks in the yard; rocks at the edge of the sycamore; rocks under the front porch and the back porch and the side porch; rocks stacked high on the Formica countertop between the range and the wheezing refrigerator; rocks along sofa creases, in the silverware drawer, tucked next to knives; in the medicine cabinet; in shoe boxes and in the butter drawer and behind every curtain—it was the time of rocks.