The Penguin and the Rock

By Peter Bowden

 


The penguin found the rock at the edge of the ice where the sea breathed in and out like a sleeping animal. It was smooth and dark, warmed slightly by the long, low sun. He nudged it with his beak and felt its stillness. In a world that cracked and shifted without warning, the rock did not move, and that steadiness felt important in a way he could not name.

Each day he returned. He balanced the rock carefully on his feet and spoke to it in the soft sounds meant for closeness. When the wind cut sharp and the snow pressed in, he shielded it with his body. The rock never answered, yet it listened in its ancient way, holding the penguin’s warmth as if it belonged there. Under cold stars and creaking ice, the penguin learned that love did not always require return—only presence.

When spring came and the ice thinned, the colony moved on. The penguin stayed as long as he could, then gently set the rock back where he had found it, smoothing the snow as one does before leaving something behind. He swam away without looking back. The rock remained, cooling slowly, while the penguin carried with him the quiet knowledge that he had once chosen something and stood with it against the cold.

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