This eroded sandstone is located by the backcountry road I sometimes drive on.  I named it One-eyed Willy.  (No offense.)  As much as he is one of those sandstones in any country side, his story is sort of banal.  So I ignored him.  Then yesterday he shouted at me to interview him before he disappears.  Hum, interview with sandstone?  Sound crazy.  But I said yes.  After he’s gone, I’ll remember him by it.  So here is our brief conversation:

Me:  “Tell me about yourself and your observation on humanity so far.”

One-eyed Willy:  “I thought you would ask that.  So here is my um…poetry, if you will.”

Me:  “How romantic.”

Willy:  “I long for my hay days of
being the part of this beautiful hill
where the octopuses used to dance by
while school of little fish hid in the weeds
where the buffalo and wolves once roamed
Lost and remained quality of me
is no longer my concern but
what happened to the lad
who’s car rolled down the slope
while texting and drove one night
I’ll be gone, never understanding
lunatic human behavior”

Me:  “The lad recovered from the head injury, got married and has a little boy now.”

Willy: “Liar, your sad face tells me you are lying. And what’s that strange sign over there?”

Me: “He didn’t make it.”

Willy:  “Never text and drive or talk on the phone while driving.”

Me:  “Thanks for the reminder.”