Night sets in,

Wind unsettling the bare branches,

The frigid air, turning exposed skin a deep red,

Mind and body, sit like stone.

The stone does not react,
The stone does not reply,
The stone does not recall,
The stone is silent.

It sits unmoved by its surroundings,
The passing of those on the street,
The turbulent sounds that fly its direction,
It is motionless and still.

The night’s tunneling wind eats away at the stone,
Corroding its outer shell,
Taking with it shards of uneven stone,
Eternally unable to be redrawn or set back in place.

Without movement, the stone is destined to fade,
Decaying in its settled state,
Eroding as nature pummels over its inaction,
The stone’s silence creates the stone’s fate.