"The Standing Stone."

Sunlight on the monolith
Reveals the hieroglyphics of weathered experience;
Rusted lichen clings to the crevices
While orange and enlightened green
Pitch for the highest place,
Pollinated gold crowns waving triumphantly.
They nod reluctantly in acquiescence to the wind
Who whistles his tune indiscriminately over all,
Moving even the ancient green stems rooted in the land
To an hysterical stirring, sensing change.

The surface is interspersed with silvery trails,
Lit tracery of the search for sustenance;
Substance of desperation,
Entwining, encircling
Without direction or hope, covering old ground
Yet alive from the spectator’s viewing vantage,
Strangely glowing.
Some have travelled with baggage, old stations
Carried with them in their search for survival;
Others abandon all stanchions
In their territorial claim for meaningful existence.
All eyes to the ground, unaware
Of their desirability, their potential,
Of the higher claim from above.

Kittie Carr