Picture Postcard #4 - Colossus

There it lies… my colossus.

I love my quarry above the sea.

Waves crash far below, tossing the boats and singing fishermen like play things.

But here it is only me, the wind, the sun and the rocks.

I make my music with hammer and chisel, my goal to delight, to worship and honour.

From Naxian bones I carve the god’s likeness.

With Naxian spring water I would polish it.

High am I, above the valleys, perched in my beloved eyrie.

I remember…

I remember the tremors deep within Gaia,

The shaking of the ground beneath my feet,

A tumble of stone about me…

I would finish my colossus so that he might stand in the green valley grove among the faithful.

They would be dancing and singing to aulos and tambourine.

Wine would flow past the lips of satyrs, dryads and naiads, of gods whose heads would be wreathed with golden vines.

I have tried to complete it, my masterpiece.

I have lifted my hammer and chisel to caress the stone, to mend the cracks.

But it is of no use when I cannot even touch my creation.

It was life to me.

Now, with ghostly hands, I reach out and weep ghostly tears in the wind, in my quarry above the sea.