Indian Rock

He always felt well situated, close to the wisdom of the stream, the empathy of trees and foliage, the warmth of squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks as they stopped in the shadow of his girth. He hadn’t moved in eons, but his inner workings were humming,

teeming with anticipation.

They were like the other uprights only noisier, he thought it could be fun. They named him after previous visitors, covered him with graffiti, spit on him, left plastic and tin.

His majesty, the magic of the area diminished, at his age he learned anew - to pity, to mourn and to fear.