Gouged by ice, boulder strewn,
Of hunter-gatherers and the flight of the hunted.
Known by a different name, spoken in a lost tongue,
You were oral, unrecorded, carried on the air.
You were an outstretched arm, a pointing finger,
A place near some other place.
A place of gods, but not of God,
Evolving, eroding.
No hunter-gatherers now. no flight of the hunted,
A respite from the week, a playground.
Of climbers and runners, of hikers and riders,
of picnics and pets.
Among the rocks the remains of pleasure, and of war,
Neolithic guided markings of loved ones.
To vision the beginning, stand alone in the deepest mist,
And gaze upon the earthly bones.