The old man stands
On a snowy hillside
Silhouetted by a gray
Expanse of winter sea
In the distance a massive
Granite fist rests gently
On the sea nestled in
Amongst the waves
There is a satisfying
Calmness to this moment
The way the fist of stone
Sits in the water
Patiently waiting for
The next glacial age
Immune to the whims
Of man and nature
Of time and tide
The grizzled old man
His shoulder hunched
Against the wind
That pushes snow into
His white beard
The old man looks
Out towards that fist
And thinks
This has been worth
The price of
Admission
After all
