112: A Hymn to Our Fall

You grow slowly. Spread slowly. In a thousand years you have covered a stone. In a million years a rock. In the afternoon sun you glow in reds and oranges, catching the light and reflecting it like flickering flames, rough, yet breakable with a touch. Immortal, you bury the ground while all else fails, and in time the world becomes a slowly evolving sphere of veins pumping rainwater and lungs swelling with oxygen that could have enlivened all the bones that you have swallowed, and all is soundless as you grow and expand in the peace of centuries made silent.

Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad on Instagram)