The first spring we lived here, two giants were felled.
They swam in the breeze a little too excitedly.
I saw them gather around what was left, raw in the ground.
They chatted and left.
Since then we have hammered and jumped
Picked at ants, dug around those stumps.
The water has found its way in to the cracks
Wrinkles of wisdom.
It has overheard the natterings of toddlers and
tears of frustration.
A vantage point to oversee what there is to see
Hear what can be heard.
Chipping away with time that stump will dissolve back, unhurried.