I live among the silent giants.

Ancient masses of rock, whose stories are unknown to me.

In a certain light, there is a profile of a dead woman.

I recognise her as once residing here.

She lies prone, like an age old fable, who's threads were snipped in undefined realms.

The giants bellies never rumble, they are full to the brim with their own wonder.

The dead woman is absorbed, melting into their timeless sands, forgotten, as if she never walked their trails.

Her remains now an incurious undulating line, no longer recognisable as ever owning form.

by Lisa Lennon

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