The boulder’s time is not my own,
and yet we meet, just in time.
In a brief instant, the rhythms
brush, embrace, and intertwine.
Then they release, and each one
follows its own course.
The stone has traveled farther than I ever could.
It seems to have come from Norway,
passing among rocks and rolling down hills,
sliding, pushed, worn.
And here it is,
in transit.
That it now remains still
is only my modest perspective.
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