I Am Tired Of Anthropomorphizing Things

On a flat sandy beach there is a rock, around which the waves wash at high tide.

It is worn, hunched, and tired; its only lonely hope is that it might be able to give the preoccupied gulls a place to rest away from the bathers below. Or it stands valiant, the last outcrop remaining on this beach in the timeless battle between rock and ocean, determined never to give in. Or it spends its days dreaming of when the oceans bubbled with restless volcanoes, and in the sad nights its ancient minerals cry out longingly for the distant moon.