This Is Not A Rock

One day in 1991, I went swimming in a lake. Going out to the deepest point where I could still tippy-toe touch, I felt a large, smooth rock with my feet. I could barely dig it out and bring it to the surface. That rock is still with me. I once thought I lost it. Six months later, I found it in the trunk of my car. I threw a party to celebrate its return, but it was just us two.

The rocks you see here are not my rock. They are not rocks. They are not even images of rocks. They're code. But does that matter? If I were to show and ask you "Wh...