Angle of repose

Such a good thing.

An excellent book.

That slope at which a hill will not fall, will not move inexorably down, felling trees, sweeping rocks, engulfing roads, sucking houses into a muddy maelstrom.

That slope at which a hill resides.

Needful for engineering, for mining, for those who see mountains move, who know the consequences.

For the rest of us, that hill just is. Is there.

It is quite absurd that a hill should move.

As absurd that a mountain should explode, or a city tremble and collapse, or a landscape be swept by inferno. Or an ocean rise.

Living here now, I know these things can be true, I have seen the aftermath.

I know that the world changes. People hurt. People die. There is loss.

But we go on. We live still. By the river, by the sea, by the mountain. In knowing that epic change may happen, we go still to the brink.

Being there, being still, we become a fragment of the landscape. Deeper vision, deeper hearing, deeper roots.

Earth abides, and so, presently, do we.

Regardless of wind and water, falling leaves, passing time, we seek our angle of repose.

Relatively immobile, still, while the world moves on about us. Rooted here, in the still.

 

 

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