Elephant Rock Last night Elephant Rock crumbled. Her hide, pebble-rough, water-creased dragged down by a relentless wind, tide and time. Twice a day for hours for millenia She sank her mammoth feet in the frigid Fundy swirl that sculpted and adorned her with shells and seaweed. Small concessions from a greedy lover who stole a piece of her with every visit. As she lumbered heavy to her knees glowing red, defiant in the setting sun, memories layered deep in sedimentary stone flowed free to the surface: the dance of gulls, the sway of jellyfish, the shrieks of children, the soft whispers of lovers pressed against her side. * inspired by a rock formation that collapsed last year Hopewell Rocks on the Bay of Fundy near where I grew up.
© Lana Crossman