About a boy

He is small for his age, slight and all hard angles, bones jutting out in sometimes shocking ways. He is rarely still; he never has been a still child. He is energy itself, constantly tapping a foot, shifting and fidgeting in his chair, darting through the house while being admonished to "use his walking feet." It does no good. It probably never will.

But today we walk into a shop at the Renaissance Festival. Rainbow Rocks, it is called. And he finds stillness. Or it finds him, I'm not sure.

He gazes, spellbound, at the rows of polished agates, the geode bookends, the tiny fossils embedded in shale and sandstone. He moves slowly, his eyes falling on each treasure in turn, his hands reaching hesitantly to touch, then pulling back as he remembers it is a "no touch" place.

We round the corner of the display cabinets and tables and he takes in his breath. Here is a table covered in small turned wood bowls -- each one perhaps large enough to hold a quart of milk -- and each filled with smooth, brightly colored stones.

He looks, his eyes wide with wonder, at the rainbow of colors before him, and begins to tell me what each stone is. He knows their names, the powers attributed to them by the ancients, the myths and lore that surround them. A bowl labeled "Bloodstone" catches his eye and he reaches for it. He makes eye contact with the proprietor, a middle-aged man who has been silently watching him, and says, "Did you go to India to get these? Because they are only found in India. If you found them here in North America they would be very valuable!". The man is startled; he affirms that yes, they are from India and begins to watch more closely.

The boy continues his narration. "Hematite! Oh, and look, Mom, there are garnets and peridot. Wow, these are all SO cool."

Now people around us, previously just browsing or waiting for a husband, parent or other companion, begin to take an interest. The boy's face glows with excitement; he continues to name the stones, many of which have labels that are turned away from our view. Again he describes where they are found, their properties, the variations that are possible. The people are silent, but they smile at one another, they nudge and gesture and listen in amazement to this skinny bespectacled boy.

The owner hands me a business card and mentions an upcoming rock and mineral show in the Twin Cities metro. There will be lots of things to look at and many children's activities.

As we leave, I remember hikes with my dad, finding mica glinting in the sun, and learning about how rocks are formed, looking for fossils in limestone and shale, marveling at the beautiful colors in such seemingly ordinary things. I smile as I realize that a connection between the generations has been forged without my knowledge or intervention; this child, like his grandfather, LOVES rocks. And I am grateful once again for his uniqueness, his energy, and for the opportunity to see the stillness in this quicksilver child.