Polar fleece, sheep fleece, wool and cotton thread. Dartmoor in Spring
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It turns out there’s such a thing as a stonerock; a peak, a crag, a boulder.
That there stonerock sounds remarkably like you -my handmade, soft, squidgy boulder. I like how you smell, trusty touchstone. I always want to touch, hug, envelop and cover you. Leaning, pulling, wrapping right around you; surface on surface, with feet involved too. Here I am and there you are, nestling into gaps and bouncing together.
Perhaps it’s just easier to be affectionate towards stonerocks.