One of the happiest times of my week is walking the beach with eyes sweeping the sand and rocks. Eight minutes away is a place where my dogs can run free, and the stones have individual character. I walk and witness  all the shapes, most with smoothed edges, dozens of colors and literary striations that include rings, symbols and –as I tell my daughter– “Mer language” too. These rocks seem to each tell a story and I feel what the ancient Native Americans knew about the spirits, even if I can’t tell the stories as eloquently. The beach rocks.