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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| Stories of stone What stories stones could tell of ancient laborers so long gone, even their ghosts have left. The stones remain. Hard bones of someone's bent ambition, placed or raised to repel the ravages of change, millennia after they've been forgotten. Those frail creatures, those land-bound laborers, eyes gazing at heights they longed to reach, short-lived, their dream of leaving a legacy for endless time. Yet, even stones must die. Not yet, whisper unlit lamps and empty streets. Not yet, respond the darkened windows. Prideful towers echo: not yet, not yet. © Kåre Enga (15.juin.2017) [174.138] /30:15.1/  Earlier version kept here for reference: Stories of stone What stories stones could tell of ancient laborers so long dead, even their ghosts have moved-on. The stones remain. Hard bones of someone's ambition, placed or raised to withstand the ravages of change, millennia after they've been forgotten. These frail creatures, these land-bound laborers, eyes gazing at the heights, short-lived, dreaming of leaving a legacy for endless time. Yet, even stones must die. Not yet, whisper the unlit lamps and empty streets. Not yet, respond the darkened windows. Even the prideful towers echo, not yet, not yet. © Kåre Enga (15.juin.2017) [174.138] /30:15.1/ 81.218 |
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