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.