Kid Stuff: Polished Rocks.

I had a rock collection. I know how the game plays. Trust me.

Hearts of black and brittle. Gather up a lonely handful: tumble.
Toss um in a box (plus a pinch of polish) and fire up that clatter-clap motor.
Voila! Black Forest! (Not the one with the ham.)

Gingerly pick which strikes your fancy. Toy and twirl it in your hands.
Marvel as Little Lump greedily drinks up your warmth, heatsponge.
And friction is an intoxicating accessory to the incident.
(Stone-shy mumble, "Can we hold tight 'til one-heat?" Isn't equilibrium sexy?)

We should be realistic here, however. Conflagration prophesies itself: it will flag.
(Let's try that again, simpler. Fires don't burn forever. Even Old Sun don't got himself a hydrogen boo-fay buffet.)

Perhaps you've danced too close and dabbled too long-- Little Lump will slip and slump from your palm. And equilibrium is a game for two.

But what do they call it: thermal inertia? Let's pretty that up: stones remember long.
Example. Touch the sidewalk. See how Cement remembers Old Sun long past sundown? Thermal inertia.

Give it a few hours. He will forget (though the forgetting is slow).

Funny little things, like stones.