The man stands pondering
His next move
Turning the dull clunker
Over and over in his hands
Feeling for the bone of it
The marrow at its core
Over and over in his hands
He turns the stone
Listening for the dry chalky sound
Of rough against rough
He holds an eon of coiled energy
Latent In his hands, over and over
His feet draw up
The potent heat of the day from the rocks
Words form in his mouth—
Manipulation, transformation, reverence
Small pebbles of evidence
Are sculpted by his hands, over and over.
Recently I had the privilege of watching Scott Woolsey, an artist who lives in New York’s Catskill region, build a stone cairn on the banks of the Neversink River.
Melissa Shaw-Smith 