Stones under my feet

After Psalm 122

These stones under my feet

are singing as I walk,

each step a note

each pace a refrain

each stride a psalm.

They sing together,

these stones, they sing

in harmony, the sound

rising upward like a prayer,

the music of the spheres,

the language of heaven.

Photograph by Bastian Ignacio Vega Cani via Unsplash. Used with permission.

At the center of the earth

He stood at the center

of the earth, knowing

it could not would not

hold, dust returning

to dust, even then seeing

the rock turning to sand

stones singing a dirge

to mourn what was

no longer is what

could not would not

hold at the center

of the earth.

Photograph by Dario Sabio via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

A hill of stones

A hill of stones: the path

barely discernible. The deer

were here before us. The trail

grows steeper, the rocks

smaller. The leaves turn

and fall against the rocks,

depositing eons of tannic acid

and leaving only the slightest

of stained indentations.

Photograph by Julie Gentry via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

The stones

A place of terrible heat,

heat bleeding the skin;

a place of terrible cold,

cold snapping the bone;

a place of no relief,

of no belief,

until the stones

themselves cry out.

Photograph: Desert Boulders by Ronald Carlson via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.