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