The Stone and The Acorn
by Whitney Wallace
I’ve always been attracted to the stones.
To the rocks.
I would collect them in my pockets and my mother,
much to her dismay,
would find them rattling around,
forgotten,
in the washing machine.
I still often walk with my head down,
searching,
looking for one that catches my eye.
I play a game with myself.
If the rock is still there,
if I still notice it on my way back down the trail,
it’s meant for me.
A sign.
I’ll stoop low to pick it up,
holding it in my hand, brushing off the dirt.
Looking at it from all angles.
Imaging all that has passed since this rock came to be.
And slip it in my pocket.
A special treasure to carry home with me.
A reminder of things that can be counted on.
Depended upon.
I have more than once found forgotten rocks
in my pack, my car, my coat pocket.
And yes, also in my washing machine.
And big rocks?
Ones bigger and taller than me?
I could spend hours
—have spent hours—
sitting by them.
Leaning into their strength.
Their solidifying embrace.
The rocks are always there.
Permanent.
Steadfast.
Yes, they change,
but over millennia.
Not over days.
Or even my lifetime.
They are a steady presence in a sometimes-chaotic life.
Were a steady presence in a frequently-chaotic childhood.
A faithful friend that I can count on to be waiting for me.
To offer stability,
a firm foundation,
when all around me feels like shifting sands
and things falling apart.
The acorn, another favorite treasure.
As a child I would gather them in baskets.
Pretending to cook them and using them in tea parties.
I would leave little piles of them for the woodland friends along the creek near our house,
watching for squirrels with big, puffed full cheeks.
I still look for the acorns.
In the autumn,
I gather them up by the handful as I wander the woods.
All different sizes and variations of shape.
Feeling their smooth outer shells,
their rough, bumpy caps.
Rolling them around in my fingers,
I marvel at so many shades of brown
and smell their woodsy smell.
I sometimes carry them with me for a moment as I walk,
but acorns aren’t pocket treasures.
They don’t find their way into my car
or my washing machine.
For they do not last,
and their purpose is to fall apart.
To soften.
To break down.
The acorn does not shed its dirt as readily as the stone.
It holds onto it,
welcoming it in,
getting right down into the soil,
into the mud
and dying leaves,
into the messiness of the forest.
Within each is a brand-new life
—new growth—
but it will only appear with this breaking apart.
This softening.
The hard outer shell must split,
allow the outside in,
to allow the change.
It cannot be permanent,
hard
even steadfast,
for the growth to happen.
It must fall apart for something new.
The Stone and The Acorn is the Soul Walk Project created by Whitney Wallace, FTS Certified Forest Therapy Guide, January 2023 cohort. You can follow Whitney on Instagram.