Bag of Marbles

Inside the pocket, a bag sewn into a slit of the pants, the young analyst pulled out a stone.  Slightly rounded, oblong, a bit of colour on a drab day, the frozen marbled world inside the stone sought to tell a story.

Paying attention in the morning made the difference.

Had the rising sun and the heated air affected the haze, the analyst's perceived report would reach unintended audience participants.

Had and would, words the stone crystallised in an era before analysts were added to the world's list of important features.

An announcement, like solidary stones rolling down a hill into a tranquil river.

Graffiti for the future.

Wavelengths ricochet, trapped like a bird fluttering against the hidden window pane in a parking garage.

Futures price themselves in piles of zinc.

Jessica looked at her pager and smiled.  Calcium is not the same as potassium and magnesium.  Um... there's something there... what is it?

Consulting, analysis, root cause roots - the crop of solutions will fall out of solution.

Why would someone not want this job?  Every stone - un/turned, burnished, polished, shiny, clear, opaque - a day worth interpreting from a brand-new set of data.

A heavy pocket is a good sign, not indicative of a person weighed down.

We view analysis from different angles, some understood, some misinterpreted - the analyst stays true to her belief in what's she doing, separating opinion from facts, adding to others' analyses, passed hand-to-hand, node-to-node in the network of life.

Barbara B makes a difference, too, every movement adding notes to the perfect chord, silently echoing inside the stone's spherical wall.