The boy eyes the window in the old brick tower, sees a glint of wholeness amidst surrounding shards. He has no knowledge of physics or geology or religion, but he knows the wonder of the day, the sunshine and the cool air pouring through the pines. The wonder of the perfectly sized rock in the ditch. The wonder of the last unbroken pane, all the way at the top.
The rock has realness, both smooth and jagged in his palm. It exists. It is quite obvious to the boy that every single instant of time stretching back to the moment of Creation has culminated in this rock. The tools of God—quantum forces, gravity, geologic processes spanning the ages—have conspired to create its perfect form, and place it here in the gravel road behind the cotton mill. All of history has occurred so that this rock might meet the last unbroken window and achieve its destiny.
