Three hundred million years from now, two dust motes meet and lie down together for a short rest of a century or two.
“I see that you were marble too. Did the cutters ever give you a shape?”
“Oh yes, I was a tall and handsome boy with a stern eye. Cutters would come from all over the great rock, and fall at my feet and weep. This was because they could see that I came from the purest heart of a mountain so terrible that it made the little cutter village below seem both tiny and great. And you?”
“I was a beautiful maid. I lost my arms early and cutters would dream of them and weep to know that they would never rock in the embrace of the sea of love where I was born. It’s good to remember such things. I had almost forgotten.”
And in the end the two motes lay together so long that they set into a formation no cutter would ever name.
This site will begin posting when the studio doors, locked for twelve years, open on New Years day.