Thumping interminably against my feet, hard unforgiving rock. Old rock. Old, old, old, millions of years rock. This rock, Corsica here, Torridon memorably there, but always rock. Not so tough actually, rock, because water will wear and beat you eventually but yes, you beat me rock, I submit. We talk of time.

I got lost here, rock, because you weren’t clear. I went here, mistakenly, rock. You suggested this way but it was not.

What poignant stories you give me, rock, back at home, gazing at you again, with you again, rock.

Yes I went here. Up here, following piles of rocks, leading some unknown place which was wrong. I went back. There was no bridge over a river. There was no river.

Sharp rock, hard rock, beautiful rock: as far as I see. Earth rock, with a beyond which is not rock.


Corsican Rock (Near Haut Asco)

Thursday October 8, 2015