the mound is a cairn to me: a roadside monument—but unlike the cairn it does not feel as an intentional landmark, rather another being on the road; as the mound may not last—with the transience of a living thing. 

of course the cairn is a mound, and the burial mound will last, but the everyday granular mound has its own curious place in my mind.

the mound protects the same secret as the mountain; it hums the same deep note. it has the form of stability, but we know it may leave us - with the gust of wind, the rush of water, or the continuous construction and deconstruction by human tools and human hands. 

the mound feels alien in the natural world, and wild in the urban landscape. because of this, it is always stark to me.

what was most stark and mysterious was this mound in the cover image - the mound some people brought right into the middle of the road and left for a few days then took away. i never knew why.

sometimes i imagine the world of the small fairies and the world of the ants and the mound is a special place—it is their mountain, and matches their short lives. 

a prayer for the great grandfather mounds, whose architecture is immortal to our small and brittle bones.