I was leaving work the other day, dressed as usual in slacks, button-up shirt and tie, when I reflectively kicked a pebble that was sitting on the sidewalk.

Then even more absentmindedly, I pursued the rock which was laying slightly out of my path and continued kicking it down the sidewalk. Each kick sent the stone a little more out of my path but I kept after it until I found myself doing a two-step approach on the pebble, cocking my leg and whipping my foot through the kick like a soccer player going in for the score.

Of course the stone would usually travel a disappointingly small way and settle in a location that was far from the intended target, spinning furiously. But each time, I walked over to where it was intent on sending the stone flying off the toe of my work shoe.

Soon I had covered 100 yards in a serpentine pattern on a 50-foot walk to my car. All this without a thought as to why I was doing it.

It was a rock, a stone, a pebble. Or maybe it was a soccer ball, a football, a pine cone, a piece of my imagination. Whatever it was it wasn't going to remain there without being kicked.

And there is such variety in the way you can kick a stone. You can use the soccer-style side kick which generally adds more spin and can curve the shot back into a straight line. There is the straight-on toe kick which can be dangerous if you misjudge the position of the rock and stub your toe on the pavement.

The worst is when you miss the rock entirely. When this happens the barest glimmer of reality shines into the brain and you have to look up to see if anyone saw you miss. Then there is a pause as you decide whether to keep kicking this rock or move on. Usually there is another rock waiting up ahead so it is unnecessary to retrace your steps and try again.

Sometimes you can get so absorbed with kicking stones that you lose yourself in the game. With an effort you have to pull yourself out and leave the rock where it lays.

The only people I have ever seen kicking stones, besides myself, are those who appear to be depressed or lost in thought. Is it an activity that happens only when the brain shuts off? Maybe.

But in this instance I think I was just lost in the feeling of something I had done regularly as a kid. I would often walk home from school kicking a stone as far as a I could in front of me. I would make it a game of control to see how long I could keep that particular stone with me as I went.

Then, just before I reached my destination, to flip the stone into a storm drain and turn up my driveway.

So when I left work the other day, tie flapping in the breeze, and I saw that rock it took me back just for an instant to when I was younger.

I didn't mind chasing that rock through the parking lot, regardless of how drunk or disoriented I might have looked, as long as it kept that feeling close.

~David Angier is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.