“In Summer Cottage,” Konstantin Korovin, 1895, WikiArt.

Have you stared until something changed?
Glimpsed dozen yesteryears? Foundations
Of stone I visited, sat within wind-waving
Grassy bounds, shadows of sun and cloud,
Concentration I do not force, passing time
Is not like clock gears slowly backwards
Winding. If only it were. Beneath earth’s
Womb, time yields, flowers unbloom, root
Returning, spring’s sweet birth reversed.

All round me, seasons backwards spiraled,
Quiet understanding from those guarding,
Guiding all: “Touch not, Willow, observe
Only. For we are stone-unmoving, flesh
And bone grey-granite transformed.” Who
Is stone or beating heart, Ancient Ones or
Me? Or us? “We remember when earth and
Sky first embraced, seas unfolded, primal
Waves of rhythmic surf, time created.”

Within perimeter of cottage stone, walls
Returned, island family much like my own.
By moon phases, daily lives, childbirth,
Old-age weariness, death-frail bodies
Earth interred, cottage walls dismantled
By those needing hand-set stones. Was
This mortal futility or life preserving over
Death? Latter I believed, and for this, such
Insights, timeless moments shared.

To those things changing and unchanging. 
Thanks for reading.

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