Click below to listen to the narration:
upon a rock out-crop where dry leaves mend…an aggregate tower stands where none did bend…no mason's hand nor sculptor's gaze…just time’s own art in earthbound praise…from fractured crust, they came to light…in magma's glow…with frostbite’s bite…mountains crumbled…valleys wept…and through it all…the stones had crept…a glacier’s breath…a river's hand…tossed them far across the land…each bore stories etched in their grain…of lava’s roar and ancient rain…over epochs stretched…they wandered…until nature paused upon this world…here…balance found them…one upon the other…stacked like truths we cannot cover…rounded smooth by storm and sun…heavy hearts that had to run…yet now they rest, in silence crowned…where peace, not chaos, wraps them round…hear the tale these stones have told…of shifting fate and ages old…a monument to motion’s art…built by the earth…from every part…the crow circles with solemn grace…a scholar of this resting place…with calls like pages turning slow…he reads the rock like ancient woe…the deer comes softly…dusk her veil…she knows the stones hold truths that pale…she lowers her head…not out of fright…but reverence for their silent might…robins perch on lichen throne…their warbles thread through skin and stone...they sing of time with feathered cheer…as if the end were nowhere near…by moon’s ascent…raccoons arrive…bright eyes aglow…alert…alive…they trace the cracks with clever paws…like poets mapping nature's laws…the crow flies low with his scholar’s mind…his caw a chant to days behind…he marks the stones…their age…their tone…a sermon carved in ancient bone…