The Philosopher’s Stone – a story.

At an airport.

Thoughts from a thousand minds intermingle in the ether of the airport. Shaking off the dizzyness that it generates, the alchemist guides her cart – holding a leather satchel, a leather jacket, a bag of sugary goodies, a newly bought book with the title The Listener as well as notebook, towards the coffee shop. She buys a cafe latte and a cinnamon roll. Coffee is not really good if you, as she when working, needs to stay grounded and focused. It rattles the mind, gives your field of consciousness the jitters. But, at times when you have no specific purpose other than to relax and enjoy, a coffee can be delicious. Walking through the terminal, waiting for the flight to depart, she takes a different route than usual and discover an Island of Four Big armchairs. There is a beautiful Autumn light diffusing through the big windows, being divided into many rays by the metal beams on the facade of the building.
Where the alchemist sits, on the Island of Big Armchairs, she has an overview of who comes and goes.
And then she notices it. There, in the middle of the large space, lies an object.  Most people don’t notice it, some do but don’t care, ascribing the object no material value. Then a police man stops, assesses the potential terror threat, files it under “non-threat” yet doesn’t pick it up.
After a long time, the cleaning personnel removes it. What a pity, the alchemist thinks. A philosopher’s stone had revealed itself, yet no one stopped to look. No one stopped to pick it up. Perhaps the world of magic has been lost to the eyes of man? But she knows that isn’t true. After all, alchemy is her life and if there is one thins she’s learned it is that the treasure is always hidden in plain sight. All we have to do is look and see.
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