Under Stones
Slate fingers stretch
from the wooded hillside.
Misshapen, worn, eroded
by time and runoff; cracked
by gravity and spillage.
Splintered shale records
the geologic timeline
of a beggar’s feast of elements,
water fire air and wood
for oblivion’s hunger.
In hollowed coves
beneath the cupped hands—
mossy, damp, & cool,
Pill bugs welcome the showers.
4 thoughts on "Under Stones"
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I couldn’t love this more!
“beggar’s feast of elements” (= perfection)
Agree with Leah,
and the pill bugs
are the revelation
“Pill bugs welcome the showers.”
Gorgeous piece!
The stone is alive! It is the historian for the land and a mother to the smallest of creatures. Well done.