Click below to listen to the narration:
the land breathes out...hot as ancient dragon breath...not the kind that cools your brow...but the kind that presses...tight like a promise not kept...stones...not just stones...they rose...pushed from below like truths long buried...tossed like accusations into sun-thick air...hovering...tumbling...and still...somehow...they land...stacked...precarious...deliberate...like history...like protest...like prayer...clouds drift above like dreams half-remembered...a moose forms...form then fade...a bear turns slowly...sky shapes shift in a pageant of wild things...all of them watching...the aggregate stones...balanced on ancient fatigue...each one a record of an agreement made...or broken...each one a voice...gravel-toned and heavy-throated...the crows...don’t miss a beat...they circle like they know it’s coming...like they read the heat...they perch on every summit of stone democracy and scream...not out of fear...but strategy...they’ve seen this play before...they’ve marked where the fault lines flare...they call out...to each other...to the sky...to anyone still listening...prepare...the summer speaks...the balance shakes...the rhythm shifts...and still...we stack...stone over stone...memory over myth...until the sculpture says...we are still here...