| upon the jagged outcropping...the raven perched...its dark wings restless against the shifting sky...the wind twisted...uncertain in its path...carrying whispers of fire...of stone...of endings...from the depths of the earth...magma rose...a river of molten fury...shaping the bones of the land...it cooled...hardened...fractured...but did it ever truly rest...balanced upon each other...the stones stood...one upon one...trembling in the breath of time...the sun pressed its weight upon them...but the heat did not promise permanence...the rain came...sudden...fierce...its fingers tracing the cracks...seeping into silent crevices...but would not bend or break...the cold followed...tightening the stone’s grip upon itself...making what once was strong brittle...a quiet tremor beneath the weight of frost...the raven spoke...its voice a thread in the wind...telling of the aggregate...the birth of rock...the forces that shaped them...but never how the story would end...the stones listened...though they did not speak...for they knew the truth of the tale...they had felt the fire...the wind...the rain...the cold...the snow...the trembling of time...and still...they stood...each upon each...bearing the weight of the world...waiting...the wind shifted...the raven lifted its wings...the stones trembled...and the sky did not answer... |
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