Remembering stones

Sculpture on NW Lovejoy portraying the I-405 Fremont Bridge.

I like to walk long distances,

Stones in my pockets, and subpockets.

I know them each by how they clack and scrape.

Other, smarter, faster people shed stones from choice or shoddy pockets.

I like the feel of them crammed, how they complain or chatter.

Each step of mine heavier, a fall forward, foot pressed to ground to stop the fall, stomp, stand up.

It says “I am here”.

Step and fall and stomp and stand and stronger.

Though sometimes I just up and run for the fuck of it.