Writing

No Bryophytic Plantlife

Click. Click. Click.
Breathless; it's tipping!
Granite creaks; delighted scream
Four-ton stone
Hell-bent for the creek.
Circe Creek or the log deck, it seems
One will stop it... or so we think
Flying trees; ecstatic glee
Four-ton stone
Bounces off the creek
Who would have thought stones could leap
Logs stacked up ten high, twelve deep?
Slow motion silence; air in between
Four-ton stone
Catapulted from the creek.
Wildly gesticulating
Oh, don't cross the creek!
Housewife emerges; armload of sheets.
She can't believe
Four-ton stone
House-ward careens.
"Right! Right! Right!"
(My panicked, teenaged squeak.)
Dad's hydraulic jack
Forgotten at my feet.
Exhausted, spent,
Beside the house, it rests
Four-ton stone
Journey now complete.