Being a boulder

In the morning, the son crawls into his parents’ bed, slips under the covers, and wedges himself between them. His movements are stiff, which is no wonder, since just the day before he was diagnosed with viral allergic arthritis in his right knee. Nevertheless, he isn’t inclined to remain still for long, as neither early morning, nor viral allergic arthritis are really good enough reasons to put life on hold. After a day spent at the hospital, the parents would gladly put everything on hold, so the father simply pretends he is a boulder, which always stays in its place and does nothing. The son decides to turn into an oak, which is growing just beside the boulder. The oak gets big and tall pretty fast. It is now home to many squirrels and nesting birds. Then the wind picks up, the oak rustles and sways from side to side. Soon a full-scale storm hits the bed, and everything is upside down. The boulder isn’t happy about all this ruckus, but what can it do, being a boulder? Finally, lightning strikes the tree, splitting the trunk in two, and the oak falls right onto the boulder. But the unshaved cheek of the boulder is covered in prickly stubble, that is, moss, and it is unpleasant to lie on it. So spring comes early and the oak, having gained strength, sprouts new roots and rises. Then the wind picks up again, then hits another storm. Then the imagination runs out. For a while everyone lies in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. “I need to shave, the moss is prickly indeed,” the boulder thinks, touching his chin.