Patience in Stone

Water learns the stone's slow language, finds cracks in the darkness, whispers against granite walls for centuries of summers.

The moss arrives as an afterthought, soft-footed and deliberate, painting green rumors across the weathered face.

Stone remembers nothing but wearing. It gives way in the smallest increments, each drop a prayer

answered in dust, in the gentle rearrangement of earth, in the river that carries away what the stone could no longer hold.