I tell you even rocks know the end is near.
‘Twas a dream, so I imagined, in drowsy stupor and in that place ancient rocks spoke in their aged wisdom.
Boulders round and silent and overshadowing, in their stillness.
Great boulders, older than most of creation they were.
Draped in wetted wisdom, baked through the eons long passing. And I, a creation, made soft by blood and sinew and naïve as dawn’s dew. Wide eyed in awe of their shadow wisdom.
Oh to wield it, and yet be servile to it. What insanity to be afflicted by so much wisdom. Better to be somewhat stupid and foolish and slaved to an erring emotion than to be coiled by so much wisdom. Aye, stupid and happy, chuckled as a drunken sailor stumbling merrily side to side on life’s meandering byways.
And the boulder spoke –
Long ago, before man’s tongue wagged words laced in lies and deceit found its perch in the minds of man, there were only rocks to populate the earth. In the fullness of time it came to pass that wind and rain and their siblings ice and sun wrestled upon the rocks.
And so the rocks did cleave and born of them came sand and dust so many eons ago. The insignificant dust would one day fulfill the prophecy and walk upon the earth. Unto all beast and all things in the sea the dust of rocks would have dominion.
And the prophecy foretold the darkness that would come with man’s disrespect of the fruits of the holy. And the boulders rocked to and fro as they spoke with great sadness of the coming fall of man. Their words echoed through the canyons with every gentle breeze that passed through their midst.