Friday, February 22, 2008

Stone Pile Whisper

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

3 comments:

theseventhgeneration said...

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.

stonepilewhisper said...

Thanks, I had an inspired moment. I think we both share this appreciation of ancient mysteries.

Judy said...

I'm glad you are sharing this with others.