Inhabiting an object with surreal "leaping" and narrative non-fiction memoir in mind (metro p. 66)--a more speculative approach...

Draft #2

The girl touches me, her fluid river hands so warm, so much like the high sun season, and I think her hand looks like lava, but the skin moves, it flows, and is white.  I have seen these humans before, but not this one fat and tentative in sandals.  The human with the red face, with the gut, pings his metal hammer into geodes.  "Green River fossils," the man says, "are all around us even now."  I am amber, but not translucent.  I inhabit patience and cold.  I am always waiting but I don't think about this.  I am always cold, but I only remember this when the sun is high.  This girl's hand is warm.  She picks me up and suddenly there is motion.  We move and the ground moves.  The dust.  The succulents.  She moves like the river below us.  I feel a little dizzy.