The Salt Hills

When continents collide and the abyssal plain reaches for the sky with stone, the ants wiggle their antenna unknowing the tread of eternity all around them.  Like the sediments that transformed beneath the ocean’s deep, the dust on shelves hides many memories which can be disturbed by a leaking roof, a child’s eyes, old acquaintances renewed.  They can be disturbed by the never-ending struggle between technology and magick.  When you rowed out into the lake with those memories long ago, wrapped them in a tarp, and tied the weight with a bowline with best intent to never see them surface again, sometimes the rope rots and they surface again.  Or perhaps it is the brain that rots with old age, each synapse fires one last time before it burns out forever.

Fossils from The Salt Hills
The Salt Hills
The People
Field Trip

About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

2 responses to “The Salt Hills”

  1. my valiant soul says :

    Such a beautiful piece.


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