I was walking below the towering sea cliffs, deep in my customary habit of scrutinising the artistic qualities of my environment, when a peculiar rock, no bigger than a tennis ball demanded my attention.   The rock was wedged in the cliff’s foot, its surface the blackest black I had even seen, it was as if I were looking into nothingness, a void.

Instinctively I reached down to retrieve it, when an unexpected voice spoke within me, “leave it where it rests, the rock is where it needs to be, dislodge it and the cliff might fall.”  The cliff remained standing.

 

© Paul Nichol    January 2017

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