Great gray stones leave the bank of the river,
stacked with their brethren
between the old cedar trees.
One upon one,
they stand together, shoulder
to shoulder
in deep, masculine force.

Over decades, they settle.
Some, restless, move again
toward the river.
Most hold fast, remembering
their task.

Until, one morning
after the first spring storm of April,
in Springs push
for more,
the old stone wall shudders,
and with a deep sigh,
gives way.

*** We went out after the last storm and our old rock wall had fallen. The chipmunks had loosened the soil, giving the rain a place to wash out behind the stones. And it just gave way.
We will restack and make it whole again, but who knows how long ago those stones had been carted up from the river and stacked with their brethren.