Before rock was assigned, rock lived molten, just like you. The furry gardens of earth rendered magma as nature, and you had a home. Rock filled in the map, with odd locutions and fanciful tests. Ages happened and words crept out. Rock became the essential toy of fabrication until tree could be useful. Rock settled in place but also chanced to roam. Thus your footing. Tree became later after the ocean figured out time. Rock made reminders. If you ever stood on a bridge, you know. You really don't know, of course, but you can hear what others say. The Sun as a molten candle looks good today, and tomorrow rock will sing. In a matter of time a matter of time will appear. You can become the rock that knows this, this rock. That will be later, when you’ve been enough rock.
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