Pondering the scene and my shiver, I knelt beside the lake and gathered four treasured river rocks. Rocks and feathers are precious to me. But what of the rocks I have thrown that have gone astray even if in joy or simple lack of maturity or knowing and have harmed another? Not being wise nor a time traveler, I cannot take them nor the harm back. Releasing the rocks back into the lake, knowing the hearts whose names I breathed and those names I do not know, could not hear as I whispered, "forgive me."
I bet his father threw rocks. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out the rock I carry when I walk and released it with a whisper for the little boy. The rock he threw was released, errant perhaps, but it is gone. As I watched my rock settle upon the lake bed of silt, I prayed the little one would not be left with an even larger rock to carry in his heart.