The Stone's Travels
Once upon a time there was a stone, which was kicked by a casual passerby.
The stone rolled and rolled and rolled, for it had been kicked from the top of a very high mountain that stood at the edge of the sea.
On the way down the mountain, the stone greeted all it passed with a clank or a rumble or a skitter, and the observers looked on, marveling at the speed with which the stone made its way.
The stone itself had little thought on the nature of its travels, it simply followed the trajectory outlined by the kicker—who in turn had no idea about the path upon which it had sent out the stone.
But when the stone made it all the way down the mountain and plunged into the sea, it felt that the journey was its own all along.