When nature's inhalation whips up storms, We are set in stone monoliths.
Carefully carved intricate marks decorate our walls; unfinished since we must finish etching them Together.
Heed lightning cracks its own violent tremor into Our stone walls.
Still! Winds will tear and maul rains will erupt and slaughter then give way to bright sky and deadly clear horizons;
reflecting back to us our own trailing ripple of increasingly clear syllables.
Each etched now in our walls. Mother printed the first symbol, a delicate addition first of many, now forming sprawling racing lines. Strung together, from the inside.
And the monoliths stand tall and we bare storm and choose together.