This week’s photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grant for our photo prompt!
She chose and stacked the stones carefully – the large flat slab of bedrock as the base, then a pale gritstone, carried to the sight when the valley was still a river bed, when the water gushed, eroding the strata to soft curves and swoops.
As she worked, the sun changed its character from hot – forcing pricks of sweat to salt her lips and flow down the runnel of her spine – to cool as it dipped lower, painting the cliffs until they turned to blood in the dying light.
When she was done she sat and waited. Her sweat chilled, shivers coming as the first star sparked into life.
Why do you call me?
The voice appeared in her mind without the need of a throat to carry it. She gazed across the valley, at the rise and fall of the ocean of rock.
‘You’re needed,’ she said.
The history of the stones, the ghosts of silvery fish, the tales of the long past green waters flowed in, filling her.
She was complete again.