The stream it was full of stones but they weren’t just any stones, no, they were smooth and egg shaped and fit perfectly into the palm of any hand, but the most important thing was their colors, of how they sparkled and danced beneath the water, the water so clear people said it was enchanted, but now it was only I standing there looking at the pretty stones, they were pearl and crystal and cloudy brown but also murky blue and soft purple and emerald and bright yellow and they were speckled and splashed and dabbled and swirled with colors, and they reflected in my greedy eyes, and remember how I stepped forward to take them all in my dirty hands, but when I lifted the stones out of the water my hands dripped with murky water and gray rocks instead of the smooth pretty stones I expected, and when I loaded them into my bag and carried them down into the valley they were as heavy as lies in my heart, but now you stand there looking at the stones and thinking of the money you could buy with them, oh that money for those pretty stones, but you think of me and so instead you just look at the stones in the enchanted water and see the colors in your eyes as you walk into the valley with naught but colors in your heart and the pretty stones, they stayed in the stream for the next fool who comes up the mountain.