The River Stone

I’ve always struggled to decide when something was my “favorite,” whether a favorite color or season or day of the week. I think “favorites” of anything are built from memory – words and images and sounds that once evoked strong emotion. Over time, that emotion is captured like river stones in a sifter. Eventually you forget the place, the circumstance, or the dirt and dying leaves and the water that carried them. You are left only with pieces of nameless...