Granite
Eight by three by one,
rock the weight of ten men
sledged from on the hill
to the farmhouse in the vale.
Carved and hewn to the straightest
edge the stone can hold, notched
to take the weight of beams above.
Lifted careful into place,
with lengths of local ash,
moved by callused hands and
the backs of tame beasts.
Knocked until it moved no more,
made snug on a frame of blocks,
split from larger stone and stacked
to form an opening six feet wide.
Ash became firewood, split
apart before the mist came in.
Logs balanced one atop another,
with space kept for the flame.
Underneath the lintel, the fire warms the stone,
as mist shrouds surrounding hills, the granite turns to home.
