Click below to listen to the narration:
an outcropping rose of ancient stones...a crown of granite...wild and free...balanced in thought and poetry...the crows flew first from northern skies...with ink-black wings and clever eyes...they’d seen the tundra’s silent sweep...where arctic foxes softly creep...they spoke of iqaluit’s frozen grace...and auroras dancing face to face...the hawks came next with piercing gaze...from rockies wrapped in morning haze...they’d soared above lake louise’s glass...where elk and shadowed spirits pass...they told of banff’s cathedral peaks...and wind that whispers when it speaks...the porcupine...with quills aglow...had wandered forests soft with snow...from fundy’s tides to gaspé’s shore...he’d felt the pulse of ocean’s roar...he spoke of lighthouses standing proud...and fog that wore a silver shroud...the deer stepped light from prairie lands...where wheat and sky hold gentle hands...she’d danced through regina’s gold grain...and watched the bison roam the plain...she spoke of peace in manitoba’s hush...and boreal songs in twilight’s blush...they met again where stones had flown...that outcropping...their meeting throne...each tale a thread...each laugh a spark...their memories stitched the fading dark...with verses shared and laughter spun...they built a tower toward the sun...one stone...one word...one feathered rhyme...defying gravity...space...and time...and though they’d roamed both far and wide...from coast to coast...from tide to tide...it was the joy of stories told...that made the outcropping strong and bold...so if you find that sacred place...where stones in balance hold their grace...listen close...the wind may sing...of crows and hawks and deer and what they bring...of porcupines with tales to share...and laughter light as mountain air...