Click below to listen to the narration:
the stones are always arriving...from the earth's molten heart they flow...a slow fiery river seeking the sky...they know the secrets of deep time...of pressure and heat...of water carving canyons...wind whispering across mountains...here they stand...balanced on a windswept outcrop...their silence a chorus in geological memory...one and all they found their place...an unintentional patient kind of trust...each one cradling the weight of the last...an aggregate of stones...a sentinel...a storyteller...the sun's last rays pierce the clouds...illuminating their rugged surfaces...each line and fissure a testament to their long slow journey...the creatures come to listen...a hawk wheels overhead...its shadow a momentary hush on the ground below...its eyes sharp as flint...sees not just stone but a timeline of existence...crows wise and knowing...fly in circles...call and land...their black feathers mirroring the night to come...a raccoon...nose to the ground...senses the ancient tales buried in the soil...a small mouse...a shy cat...a porcupine...all drawn to this quiet gathering...a murmuring conversation between rock and sky...the stones speak of a world reborn again and again...of life and death...of beginnings and endings...they tell of the first flight...the first footstep...the first whispered song by a flickering fire...they are the earth's memory...on this rugged...lonely outcropping...they share their stories with all who listen...they are a monument to continuity...a quiet echo of the deep...slow rhythm of the world...the life that shares it...