Week 10: The Stone That Looked Like an Arrowhead

The snow was melting in small patches now. Not everywhere—just enough to make dark ground show through.

Alex followed the path until he heard the creek.

It wasn’t loud.

It was a small, steady sound.

Water moved along the edges of ice and carried bits of leaves like tiny boats.

At a muddy bend where the snow had washed away, something dark lay near the waterline.

At first, Alex thought it was just another rock.

Then he noticed the shape.

It was pointed at one end. Two slanted sides met in a narrow tip. It looked like someone had shaped it that way.

Alex crouched, keeping his boots out of the mud. He didn’t pick it up.

He only looked.

His mom once showed him something similar—a small stone point she kept in a box. She had told him its name.

An arrowhead.

“Mr. Owl,” Alex whispered, “that looks like an arrowhead.”

A soft hoot came from above.

Mr. Owl perched on a branch over the creek. “What makes you think so?”

“The shape,” Alex said. “It looks made.”

Mr. Owl glided to a lower branch. “Then let’s look closely before we decide.”

Alex leaned in. The stone was dark gray. A thin line ran across one side, like a crack line.

He studied the edges. They were sharp in places—but uneven. One side had tiny chips, like small bites taken from it.

“It’s not smooth,” Alex said slowly. “And the edges look broken.”

Mr. Owl nodded. “Good noticing.”

Alex glanced at the moving water. “Did the creek make it?”

“The creek helped,” Mr. Owl said. “But not all at once.”

Alex frowned. “Then how?”

“Long ago, this stone may have been part of a larger rock,” Mr. Owl said. “Cold and heat can crack stone. Water seeps into tiny spaces. When it freezes, it pushes. Pieces break away. Over time, sharp shapes can form.”

Alex looked at the pointed end again.

“So it can look like an arrowhead… even if no one shaped it.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Owl. “Nature makes many shapes.”

Alex studied the muddy bend. “Why is it here now? I’ve never seen it before.”

“What has changed?” Mr. Owl asked.

Alex looked around. The snow was thinner. The ground was soft. The edge of the creek looked stirred up.

“The snow melted,” he said. “The water moved the mud.”

Mr. Owl nodded once. “The creek covers things. Then it uncovers them. Sometimes a stone waits a long time before it’s seen.”

Alex felt a quick little flip in his stomach.

Not because it was treasure.

But because it had been there all along.

He didn’t reach for it.

He just watched the water slide past.

“It feels like magic,” he said quietly.

Mr. Owl’s voice was calm. “The creek shows things when it’s ready.”

Alex sat back on his heels and listened.

Drip. Slip. Trick.

The creek kept moving.

The snow kept melting.

The forest kept changing.

Alex looked at the pointed stone one last time.

“Thank you,” he whispered—not just to the stone, but to the melting snow and the moving creek.

Mr. Owl gave a soft hoot. “Come, Alex. There is always more to notice.”

And Alex followed the path home, looking a little closer than before.