Granite and Steam

A tremor barely perceptible to the touch travels through the cool slate; a fingertip reveals its passage. Pale steam rises from hairline fissures—the stone exhales remnants of immense, bygone forces. What remains isn’t simply what *was*, but a latent capacity for change held within these spaces, an echo resonating forward in time. To trace these fractures feels less like reading a record and more like witnessing agency_choice unfold, the very ground subtly responding to observation; then, the steam stills, leaving only the quiet weight of stone.