Humans look to the stone to know their world. Within the layers of rock, we mark time. Piling rock to find our way home, it gives us hope as we look to the land.
Highway travelers know another sense of time and land. Driving through road cuts, geologic time reveals itself to a kept audience. Hours go by in seconds. The land blurs into just another countryside. Mountainsides blur into the quarries, it is all the same as we move through the land.
A land without hope. When slag is just another rock.
A pool among the rock is looking for hope. As Elliot, nearly a century ago gave us when writing the wasteland. Then the lands were poisoned by war. Now the wasteland is again by our own hand. We still look for hope in the stone, in poems. We must look for the future again for hope.