Fossiliferous black marls – your name sounds
Born of witchcraft and mystery. Cursed.
Unearthed. Weakened. Spell bound
Never to rest, nor thrive again.
Arid land on which nothing grows
Slippery soil ever evolving,
Evading trees’ grasp.
Carbon crackling and crumbling down.
Layer upon layer
Of pressed organic matter
Sedimented under ancient seas
For millennia – untouched by oxygen.
Now uncovered. In your dense, massive frailty
Eroded. Rendered vulnerable by frost’s crispy touch,
Your skin bursts and shatters, leaving faults through which
Waters can reach in, and glide on. Navigate, infiltrate your structure
Assaulting your mass
Compromising your integrity
Further scarring your decaying matter,
Your hardened, sterile body of waterproof clay.
I remember how I loved to plant my feet
On your moving grounds, to speed up, jump on, and
Run along – slide against your elephant shaped butt cheeks.
Now. From a distance, let me behold your daunting, deserted scenery.
*Mauvaises terres is the French for “bad lands”.
Featured image captured by my iPhone 5C, HDR settings on August 9th, 2016, on the Col de la Bachassette, near Oze, France.