River rocks are smoothed and rounded over great periods of time against their will, but not without their complicity. Currents of river and tributary, strong and weak, pour over the rocks, lifting sediment, other rocks and more than is known from the river bottom. The rocks, crashing and banging, scratching each other, weather themselves with force and abrasion. Tumbling over, one against the other, rubbing and worrying as the water washes over them continuously until there is a place to land, and silently they drift to the bottom of river or tributary.
The current, though, never stops. Strong or weak, its creation is illusion. Rushing over a fixed point: the river rock stationary in its place of refuge. An idea of motion created by force without truth, as misguided as the early astronomers believing the fixed sun circled the orbital earth. The river rock, in a constant inaction, is worn down by the perpetual motion of current.
Over time, there are no more jagged edges, no rough patches, only the roundness and smoothness of perfected river rocks.
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