In the land of more, more could be less, too. It was like that. Always. IN the land of more. Until you found the Emerald Stone.

Then everything became more and more forever​ more. The Emerald Stone had many qualities. Most of all heart. It breathed. It shone. If cascaded sounds into and out of the silence. It even listened to waterfalls gathering their own silence. You see, there were two waterfalls next to the emerald. One to the left. And one to the right. It was like that in the world of gem stones breathing in air, crystal clear, and with hearts of their own blending, with the heart, make that hearts, of the waterfalls. You see, waterfalls in Nivorkia had many hearts. One for every drop of drip cascading into their water, falling over rocks, and crannies and dragonfly nannies.

Everything breathed here in the Land of Myca, even the crow who sat motionless day after day, waiting for the right time to come alive. He rested in the invisible. Unseen. In the unseen. The invisible was like that. Even though it was clear, you could not see into it, what it held, unless you held the Emerald Stone and could look with the rigor and heart, of one heart, melded with your own.

Just so you know, the Land of Myca had many States and Statuses. Another word for States. And Statuses too, if you reverse the thinking. Order of words. The thoughts process. Ever reslize how thoughts are more than one. I guess that is why they are plural. Everfessent or however you spell that word. I am from Myca and your spelling sucks. And one of those States or Statuses was Nivorkia. Is Nivorkia. Where I live sometimes. Too. Some people call it Vegas. But that was before my time. IN the before. This is NOW. And just where I was, before I told you that, as I was saying...

#

...Then in the distance, an "alive" crow danced on a beak-hot-rock. She licked her beak hot on the rock bending it into formation. Fighting formation. This was the formation of the "V" in victory at the end of her beak and when she opened it wide, wider than her eyes could see. You see, when a crow opened its beak wide, and it was lickin' beak-rock-hot, the beak opened so-oo-oo wide, the crow could not, for the life of it, see past its breathe holes, and thought for a moment, in that moment, it was a Raven instead, because ravens always seemed to be strutting about, grumping about this and that, with their beaks so wide you couldn't see their eyes. Even if you wanted to.

It was like that in the World of the Emory Stone. That's Emory. The Emory Stone World was supposed to be the Memory Stone World or the World of the Memory Stone because in that world, this world, the one we are talking about, only the Memory Stone could recall anything past two days in the future. If that makes any cents, no sense. But it will later. Make sense. When you know more.

There are a lot of "Stone" things mentioned I know. But you'll get the hang of it. After awhile. Just take your time. It's like going into a new territory right now. And it is an adventure, isn't it. Oh my where was I. I digressed, again. But it is all part of the telling. And heck, a digress is no worse than a commercial. Or web ad right in the middle of your streaming show. Or a photo pic advert right in the middle of your newspaper story back in the day people read those things. Ah... I digress. But my digresses are all part of the story. This story. The one you are reading. Right now. I hope. Else why would I write it? So. Yes. Where was I? Oh yes...

Unfortunately, one day the she crow who was hot-rock-wiping her beak got it soo-oo-oo wide she could not see even her nose holes even though they were there right in front of her eyes all the time. And with this super wide, ultra wide, wider than wide opened beak, the she crow was trying to read the Memory Signs flashing in all the dew drops from yesterday, or the day before, which ever you prefer or came first. Well, the she crow could not see all the Memory Signs flashing in the invisible as they were, and you couldn't see them there anyway. And when this happened and In her own mind-she-crow-memory, she could only remember five letters! E-M-O-R-Y. And that was when Turk was making the Waterfall World out of sea shells and mermaid scales, green like topaz and emerald, and to beat all, Turk caught wind of the she crows thoughts, invisible and disjointed as they were, her thoughts, and ol' young Turk named the Memory Stone, the E-M-O-R-Y Stone. Go figure! But that is how it happened. As far as I can remember. Which is , was, yesterday. The as far as I can remember bit. But I can't remember for sure.I know for sure it wasn't tomorrow. 'Cause you can't remember tomorrow before it gets here unless you got a wonky, beak-hot-rockin' wobbly calendar that doesn't work, and puts everything on it before it happens. I know it wasn't now that I remembered it, anyway. So it was some yesterday somewhere. Sometime. And it was actually before now on another time the sun came up. Or went down. Depending on what side of the mirror, I mean world you are on. And then you gotta fuss over which world you are in! So all that memberin' would have to be at least a day ago.

Things happen fast in the Waterfall World even if you don't have an Emory Stone to hold.

*Chapter Thingy # Two*

The Emerald Stone shone on this day. In the morning. It was hot. And warm too. You figured that. You can’t have hot without warm. Somewhere. Even in the Land of Navorkia. Or, well, the Land of Myca that has the sate of Navorkia in it. All the same to me, as long as it stays green from the emerald shine on this day, when it is hot and was warm, before, like crystals knocking at your door forever more in the evermore, like the raven said after it got its beak unstuck from the frame of the door where bears wandered and filigree monkeys danced. Emerald Stones dance filigree monsters too, looking like guitars playing banjos. But that’s another story. Not this one. Maybe for another day. This one’s gone on long enuff. Is long enuff. Just sayin… It aint me… It’s the tellin’ And in the tellin’ we get the story. Eventually. Paid by the word you know. In the old Dickensian tradition. Write a lot and make more. And they were great-t-t stories he wrote. The Dickens guy.People still read them today. Because he wrote them good. Letting the words tumble as they wanted to without some tight you-know-butt-thing, sulky, bulky anal-ytically ass-sit-tire-ized editor writin’ nasties, notes, about your “over-writing”. Talk to Dickens girl and read. And jus’ READ my story and fall in love. Its nuance. Its subtley. Its fu fer ya-all-ity. Be with it. AND YOURSELF TOO. See. I did it! Capitalized Upper Cased and wonky punctuated the whole thing and PEEEPLE LOVE it, even if I don’t spell tooo gud.

So shove yourself outta your hard chair git a sofff wun, and enjoy…. Jus like me grandkids.

Now back ta the story even if we was still in it even if we wasn’t but was. The green of the day we were, are talking about now, then, was not green, really, but golden. Moss green golden. Like that. With a gold shine that was green too!. Emeralds do that in the forest of time and rhyme and fine time havin’. It is like that too when you traverse whatever you are traversing to get to where you are going, golden and whole and in one piece. It is like that. Golden. When the path is RIGHT FOR YOU! And you’re on that good golden road traversing. Used’a think trav-verse-sing was a traveling singing poet. Trav-VERSE- SING Get it? Cute,eh. That’s the Canadian in me. The,eh. Eh?!

And the amazing thing is it is always this way. Golden. Got back to the story without even a whisper of the getting’ there. Cool eh. So… the path, your path, is always gold-gold golden when you are on the right path for you. Not somebody else’s. Theirs can be golden for them. But ONLY YOUR is GOLDEN for YOU !!! That is! YOURS IS GOLDEN. BIGTIME. And sometimes only you can see the gold in the glitter that YOU walk on. It is the way of things and emeralds in the garden of this story flowering the way hummingbird wings beat sound into the air so only dragons, make that dragonflies can here. It is like that. Mysterious. This golden path thing.

            *Chapter Thingy # THINGY THREE*

The Golden Stone sat by the water’s edge waiting for the cascade in the waterfall to stop. The one on the left. That waterfall. Unless you are turned around the other way. Then the waterfall would be on the right. The one the stone sat by. The Golden Stone. Behind the waterfall stood the Emerald Stone. Green. Like you’ve never seen. It sparkled in the light in the water, coming through the water droplets and driplets. Why don’t they call baby drips, driplets instead of just drops. Too. Now, that would make sense. Don’t you think? I am going to sleep now. So this writing is going to have to stop for some ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzz’s. Was up early taking my granddaughter to the rink. 5:30 A.M. No… 4:53 A.M. or a tad before. Woke up before the alarm. Went off. It was alarming. To be up before the alarm. But at least it wasn’t alarming when the alarm went off, because I was already awake and no thing had to be alarming. So to speak. Big yawn. Just then. Mouth wide. Mine. Not the crow’s. Or the raven’s. Or any body’s of any kind. Living. Or not. Before you are alive, are you dead. Death being the non-alive part of living. That being alive thing we do. So we can read stories. And write them too.

The Emerald Stone washed itself. It can do that under a waterfall falling out of nowhere so it can be somewhere. What makes a waterfall fall the stone muttered to no one ‘cause no one was there to hear and if someone was there’d be no one not there anymore, and that would be confusing, and the stone was confused enough trying to figure out what made water fall.

“Rain,” the crow said. The one with its beak wider than wide still trying to see, find, its breathe holes when it couldn’t see its eyes its beak was so wide, from the hot-rock-beak scraping widening thing-thing, it was doing before now, in the past that wasn’t a future until a few days ago, when it was going to happen later. If you know what I mean. And if you don’t, it is okay. “I’m gonna play,” the crow said. “All of the day I am gonna play. And if it rains, its gonna rain… and that be water falling, Stone. That be water falling. Does that answer your question?”

“No,” said the stone.

“I wasn’t talking to you anyway. Stone. Why do they call you an Emerald Stone anyway?”

“’Cause that’s my name,” the stone said. “Cause that’s my name.”

“Oh,” said the crow and went back to her eye-looking-for, not realizing she couldn’t see her eye with her own eye (s). That would be insane whacky donkey-whacking-whacky-tail-dog wagging silly! And eye can’t see itself!

“You got that right,” said the stone to the wall thinking it was a water fall. And it was. A waterfall. It was. It was. It was. Falling water. So falling water has to be water fall else how could it be falling water. Rain that is.

The Emerald Stone hiccupped and gave birth to two more waterfalls. Not rain ones. Baby ones. Baby waterfall ones like her, him, whichever she he was or both. One green. The baby. And the other green. The baby. That makes two baby green waterfalls belching out of the Emerald Stone’s hiccup. Can a hiccup be a belch too. Try it. You might like it. Go figure. Watch what you hiccup. If your eyes are not toooo wide crow-eyeing wide. If you belch and hiccup at the same time, you might birth… a might be… an Emrald Stone if its not a waterfall. Don’t sneeze though. Don’t know what you’d get then. Haaachoo you know is a different species than burp and hic up. Or the other way around if you are a waterfall going up. Which would be a water rise unless you were in the other part of the world where everything upside down here is right side up there. Or something. Like. That. Wouldn’t it be neat. Cool. Or hot. If you hiccupped and emerald stones birthed if you were a water fall hiccupping that was you. Doing the hiccupping. Like that.. Not THE Emerald Stone. You. That one’s already taken. By itself. Been had. Hiccupped. However it got here. Let’s ask.

“Emerald Stone,” how did you get here?”

“Out of a waterfall…”

“A teacup?”