Under the Grain
by Arece
· 01/02/2026
Published 01/02/2026 13:31
I ran my hand across the roof yesterday.
Not the shingles, the old, grey slate.
Felt that rough cool, the way it holds
the weather, the years, the weight.
It doesn't flinch. Doesn't pretend.
Just lies there, hard, immutable.
A thousand storms it’s seen,
and still it stands, a durable
stubbornness.
It’s seen it all.
And says nothing.
Nothing at all.