Dust motes danced

Dust motes danced in the afternoon light as a gardener gently brushed soil from an ammonite, revealing a web of hairline fractures within its spiral. The cool stone felt less substantial than it appeared, almost hollow with echoes of ancient pressure—a geological record resonating faintly against the palm. Offered freely amongst shared seedlings, these fragile forms suggested preservation wasn’t about unchanging solidity but ongoing exchange; layers accumulated as evidence of constant dissolution and reformation. A quiet warmth lingered on the skin where the stone had rested, a subtle reminder of forces still at play.