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Stones of the Night… Stuart France

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

*

You are a passenger…

You stay under glass…

You are driven through the city’s ripped back-sides.

You leave the city’s ripped back-sides on a road which snakes through low, rough, foothills.

Far on the horizon a solitary fin-shaped peak rises into view.

The motor vehicle which carries you pulls into a lay-by, its rubber tires scrunching on the smattering of snow and grit.

You leave the vehicle, stepping out into the cold, frosty morning.

The air is initially painful in your lungs: you expel clouds of warm steam from them like a subdued dragon.

You are no longer under glass…

*

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