PJ Swift

Skipping Stone Symphony

The skipping stone along the surface of the vast placid lake created a sound and a tempo that nobody heard.  Or so it would seem in the cold open valley under a clear midnight sky.  But this was not true.  These sounds were part of a far larger symphony that comprised the entire earth.  The scratch of a small insect burrowed in the wood.  The whale singing its song across the ocean.  Every birdsong, every creak of a tree.  And yes, the traffic and the machinery and all the idle babble and chatter of the hoards of individuals who inhabited the earth.  All of it.  All the crawling worms, and roaring hyenas, and frail leaves that floated with the wind.  The grinding molten, the crashing waves,  the remotest drop of water on an arid plane.  All of these sounds and all the rest created a vast harmonic arrangement that was the earth's grand symphony.  And far, far away, beyond the earth's light, nothing was heard.  Or so it would seem in the cold vast open horizon of the interstellar universe.  But even this was not true.  The music was felt.  And those melodies would forever sing. 

Evading the Abyss

Swift flipped another stone onto the surface of the vast lake, and watched pensively as it skipped along the water, seemingly endlessly into the horizon, each touch a moment of charmed and magic contact.  But what he did not see, from another perspective, was that this vast, calm, still water where the stone now was skipping was on the edge of a massive, tumultuous waterfall.  In his silent reverie, Swift did not hear the overwhelming roar of the abyss.  And with each skip the stone came closer.  What would happen to this stone, this carrier of miraculous moments, in which life seemed to burst anew with each touch?  Would it fall off into the unknown, disappearing perhaps forever, or, would it, in its own mystical way, find the means to change course and evade the waterfall? Was it too late to avoid the undertow's pull, in any event?  And, would a possible fall, lead to annihilation, or, instead, to a whole new arena of miraculous opportunities?  Was it possible that the stone would keep on skipping?  Not only did Swift not know the answers, he wasn't even aware of these questions, yet.  But perhaps one day, as he would watch a skipping stone, these thoughts would enter his mind, and further bend and grow his own perception. 

Microdosing

The flying stone continues tapping the water's surface, skipping along this boundless body, each point of contact, a flash of a story.  These endless taps, these 1,001 nights of storytelling, are microdoses of narrative, poetry, of life's essence.  These nightly pieces, these quick fleeting taps, release literary microdoses to keep Swift lively, active and sane.  And so he stares at the skipping stone that he once had flung, and imagines with wonder, where and how far it can go.