The Rock

(29 Jan 2008, 16:17)

The place where he came from
was a narrow place,
aset from ruin,
yet unfriendly
but to the smallest creatures,
to those that could find shelter,
those who could slip in the cracks:
it was a steep island, too large to call it a rock, too small to call it anyone's land.
And still, it did have dry patches, there in a stretch of grass snatched from the battering winds, where saved stems could even paint a delicate spring-time hue under the sharp shadows of the looming cliffs.
It would be dreadful to portray the tides crushing on the rock in the dead of a winternight; but none is there to bear such memories:
The small inhabitants were safe in their holes, or on top a a robust, stubborn bush, the airborne seed of irretrievable will to live.

The crabs have never been afraid of seastorms, for they lack the perception of the grand scale of tempests: it was to them all the same, splashes, foam bursting up open like a fan through the cracks in the rockwalls. Very much likely, but for different reasons, the seagulls were not concerned of storms either, nor did the albatross, who stopped there at times, as he fared the face of the world.

Halvhari