Passing By
I was travelling. I still am, but
once upon a time I was on my way through
a particular place. It was north of Wantage
that I stopped and stepped out
of my car to survey a white
canyon.
They'd been cutting through the chalk,
the power of human engineering on a grand scale,
near the beginning of motorway evolution;
making a straight way for mankind.
I wondered at all the remains of creatures
living how many years ago? that made this dead chalk.
Scattered around were broken flints.
This one
drew my eye. A survivor, almost unscathed.
Its curves record a once fluid form, speaking
of the heat of creation, of powerful forces still at work
destroying and re-creating, volcanoes, earthquakes, after shocks...
How small the scratches of human engineering.
I picked it up and took it on my journey.
Is it mine?
No, it's His:
Creator of me.
I refer to Him in wonder.
Frail and intricate, I pass by and hold
this particular survivor.
When my travelling's done and the traffic thunders on
relentless and forgetful of the place,
this flint will remain wherever,
still.
Copyright © Lisle Ryder | Year Posted 2018
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