Surely the stone would not suddenly find itself encased
in a velvet muff of moss if it merely stopped rolling; after all,
it might come to a standstill in a spot that lacked the moist good
moss requires. Piles of sedentary stone have stood in sandy deserts,
bleached by sun, unspeckled by moss. There was no moss on
indolent moon rocks; lunar vegetation would have made the headlines,
provoked thoughtful interviews with Carl Sagan. Evidently,
many stationary stones manage to miss out on moss.
There is more to moss than mere halting - unplanned fluke,
serendipity. Knowing that, it may make more sense to accept the loss
of moss, and enjoy the rough adventures of rolling, despite the implications
of downward mobility. You wake up in a different place each day and never
grow bored or outstay your welcome. You travel without a passport,
see the world without paying for transport. You careen down mountains
scaring hikers, go rafting in unruly waters, surrender to slope,
to gravity. Moss requires tradeoffs, and one of them is staying put
in a damp spot. Some stones may find real satisfaction in settled
tranquility, in providing space for green growth. Other pebbles
have precipitate souls, value exuberance, cultivate the arts of falling
fluently, and embrace the spry delights of a mossless life.
In this matter of moss, as in many others, there are pluralities
of possibility, a rich variety of ways to be stone.