The Photograph
The Story
Once upon a time on the rocky Oregon Coast...
From afar it looks like just another hunk of the continent has floated off to be on it's own. Maybe it's dreaming of what it would be like, were it an iceberg. Or a ship. Or one of the whales that migrate past it each season free to roam as whales will (as free as can be while propelled by instinctual drive, that is). Maybe it's just getting it's feet wet, wanting no more than that. On closer inspection, it looks as though two brave explorers have tamed our bucking monolith and ponder the mechanics of taking it for a spin... Or a meander. I'm not sure how you'd go about steering that sort of granite barge. Perhaps they fail to move it, and simply stand, savoring the brilliant feel of their triumphant rise above the rest. As if a prize that may slip their grasp, they hold our rocky friend, grounded beneath tiny, transitory human feet.
It stands, Rock of Gibraltar-esque, unable to do anything but dream. Moved ever-so fractionally by occasional tectonic shivers, carved below by slow etching tides, and above by bare footed ambition. Anyone else feeling like a strong and everlasting rock trapped by an endless shore? :)
Side-note: What creative soul first saw muscles stuck fast to a salty rock and decided they looked like something fantastic to eat? I'd like to shake that man/woman/dog/child's hand.
From afar it looks like just another hunk of the continent has floated off to be on it's own. Maybe it's dreaming of what it would be like, were it an iceberg. Or a ship. Or one of the whales that migrate past it each season free to roam as whales will (as free as can be while propelled by instinctual drive, that is). Maybe it's just getting it's feet wet, wanting no more than that. On closer inspection, it looks as though two brave explorers have tamed our bucking monolith and ponder the mechanics of taking it for a spin... Or a meander. I'm not sure how you'd go about steering that sort of granite barge. Perhaps they fail to move it, and simply stand, savoring the brilliant feel of their triumphant rise above the rest. As if a prize that may slip their grasp, they hold our rocky friend, grounded beneath tiny, transitory human feet.
It stands, Rock of Gibraltar-esque, unable to do anything but dream. Moved ever-so fractionally by occasional tectonic shivers, carved below by slow etching tides, and above by bare footed ambition. Anyone else feeling like a strong and everlasting rock trapped by an endless shore? :)
Side-note: What creative soul first saw muscles stuck fast to a salty rock and decided they looked like something fantastic to eat? I'd like to shake that man/woman/dog/child's hand.
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