There’s a stone on my roof. Actually, it’s not the roof of my house but of a backyard veranda. I wasn’t the first to notice it. One given morning Andy said:
“Have you seen the stone over there?”
I hadn’t. Evidently, I am not the best observer of this house. I am not that curious either.
“Have you wondered how it got there? There’s no place near for someone to throw such an heavy stone. It’s kind of intriguing,” Andy continued.
As I am the imaginative one, I created a couple of explanations. The best one, I guess, it’s about the stone having fallen from the sky.
I called every single living soul in this house and asked if they had, for some strange reason, put the stone over there. No one did it.
Now I have a stone on my roof and I don’t know if I should remove it or not… It’s brown and roundish. Someone told me it’s a rolling stone, maybe from some space river. When I look at the roof I only see that stone. I even present it to a newcomer as if it were part of this family. I suppose one day, with a lot of second thoughts, I’ll get rid of it.