Where Stone First Remembers
Creation pushes
through sea toward a coming storm,
long before the song.
A memory of foundation
listens as the world learns its shape.
Mountain Holding Light
Morning lifts its weight
onto the patient shoulders
of divide and light.
A ridge shows sunrise
a shape the day keeps close in mind.
Hills Speaking in a Low Voice
The hills are not still;
the low voice is time wearing
at its own edges.
Each rise holds its brief shape,
memory keeping to itself.
Where Mountain Meets Weather
Weather finds the ridge,
a soft hand along the stone
learning its contour.
The meeting of earth and air
held only for a moment.
Pasture Dreaming in Soft Light
Light settles across
the field beneath the hills
the way memory does:
not sharply, but in a way
the evening almost keeps.
House the Wind Has Carried
Water Teaching Stone to Move
What Comes Down
Wind takes up the work
the miners left on the ridge,
testing every nail.
The house leans into absence,
its breath thin in the high air.
Edges of Ancient Ground
The old earth shows through
where stone edges give away,
worn thin by weather.
A memory the ground holds
only by letting go.
Inheritance of Stone
Stone handed forward
before it learned our names,
pressed by passing time.
An inheritance of shape
the years refuse to loosen.
Where Forest Lets Go
Conditions of Staying
The water stays close
until stone begins to move,
slowly, then more.
A lesson never finished,
shape kept by letting go.
Growth comes to an end
without announcement.
The ground adjusts,
time moves through what remains
as if it never paused.
Nothing here asks
to be spared from the light.
The ridge remains,
not by strength or resolve,
with no alternative.
Nothing insists
on staying up high.
This is how things arrive,
without hurry,
and pass through again.