I am a boulder. Shaken, pushed, and pulled by gravity and violent geology.
A large boulder slid, tumbled violently out of control, and crashed into me. When regarding the damage, the chips, cracks, and pain, I looked back bitterly and resentfully at the large boulder that had so forcefully struck me.
But it wasn't looking at me.
It was chipped and cracked and looking back toward the boulder behind him.
And beyond and far behind him, the landscape revealed a mountain littered with boulders.
Generations of boulders are planted and spread out along the mountainside, eroding over centuries and frozen time, looking back at the boulder that had crashed into it.
And then I notice the eyes of my children, and the rocks I had struck in my fall, regarding me with such pain, disappointment, and shock, hoping they will see the landscape.