Hey, little rock, I see you there, laying in the road, half covered by the weird, sandy dirt they call ‘road base,’ the foreign composite that’s supposed to combat the mud here, but doesn’t.   Your perfect disc would be coveted by some, by those that frequent lake and surf. It’s the delightful rounded flatness of you and your dark basalt face, that certainly brand you also not from here, a foreigner among native granite and sandstone, brought by the belly-dump trucks whose