Memory is a funny thing,
Subjective and dependent
On perspective.
We set up stones to portray the thought
With evidence that remains
Long after the memory fades.
The stories of recollection skewed
By time and perception….
By tellers who have heard stories
Of stones all their lives.
And after a while, one is cutting the end off a roast
As essential for success…
The way it’s always been done.
If stones could talk
They would tell a slightly different tale,
I think
