Stone Pile Whisper
Heavy stones pried from the earth by ancient hands
Hands that knew things we don’t comprehend
Heavy stones piled carefully with purpose and strange order
Over and over, year after year, alone in the end
Heavy stones resting in the sun
Soaking in the rain and holding onto the cold
Seeds become saplings
Saplings become trees
Trees that grow, die, and tumble, resting on stones, only to fade away
Over and over, year after year, alone in the end
Heavy stones surviving change with simple illusion
Their trick of weight and commonality
Heavy stones too sacred and powerful to be tossed away
Even today
When nothing is sacred and everything is tossed away
Heavy stones holding a secret
Whispering so quietly that only the old crow can hear
Whispering of ancient hands and distant secrets
Over and over, year after year, alone in the end
Friday, February 22, 2008
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3 comments:
This is beautiful! There is something very humbling about looking at a rock pile, knowing who really created it, and realizing that you may very well be the first person, since the American Indians were displaced, to gaze upon that stone pile with reverence that is long overdue.
Thanks, I had an inspired moment. I think we both share this appreciation of ancient mysteries.
I'm glad you are sharing this with others.
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