In the Quarry

Pick axe in hand, chipping away at large stone, examining small chips, carefully, methodically with magnifying lens in hand. Trying to figure out how I got here. The train wreck, up above, slipped off the rails and it be still smoking, smoldering, ruins. Thrown from the train. Hiding out here, down below, in this limestone quarry. At least the sun is out. No dirt at my feet, just small, piercing chips of this....place.

It's quiet, no running stream. I have no wish to run as the whistling of the wind would cause nothing but torment. The silence...I can only hear my self, here. It be a shiny white foundation. Sure some rocks were mislaid here or there but it's mine. It's peace. It's empty, save me. Think I'll sit on this step and examine the hollow. My feet covered in dust but they no longer bleed. Guess I'm supposed to be here...as opposed to the out of control train, I guess it's pretty good. Easy to find myself here, gathering my thoughts like spring berries, bright and red, popping up here or there. My little basket made of dried grass holds them well and is full.

Hard to believe, say or fathom, really, but I guess I'm possed to be here. At least I'm out of the dark woods and free of the swamp.

I'll be sitting here for a spell...chipping away...maybe I'll find my value here