Rockmaninov

I was five years old and on a walk around the block with my sister when I found treasure in the grass. Baby blue amidst the green, it looked like a giant Robin's egg, smooth and perfect. Only, when I picked it up, it was heavy. Hard and impenetrable, like a rock. In my tiny fist I carried it home where it was decided that it was, surely, a rock. But a most peculiar rock...

I found a place for it in my room, on my dresser, amongst two dozen other trophies of childhood. Over the years, that collection of souvenirs, tinker-toys, and actual trophies were syphoned off and replaced many times over. All except for one.

If we were friends you saw it. I showed it off to my best friend when I was nine, and to my girlfriend when I was nineteen. I brought it to Kindergarten show-and-tell. I fascinated my sixth grade science teacher with it. His best guess? Over thousands of years, an ocean licked it smooth and painted it blue.

Children are explorers and archaeologists. They find enchanted objects and bring them home to covet or share. Usually, the light at the center fades, the extraordinary becomes the ordinary, the old is replaced with the new. I'm lucky in that I have something that never lost that magic. Twenty-five years later it's still mysterious to me.

Until recently, I honestly hadn't thought about it in a long time. It was out of sight and out of mind, but I knew it was in this briefcase I have, among a few other items I store there. I've always made absolutely certain not to lose it, as though from the moment I first picked it up I acquired some kind of sacred duty. I am the Rock Bearer. I am the Keeper of the Stone.

It's time to take it out and play again. Below is a test image for a photo study I'm planning to do.