THE HICKORY RUN BOULDER FIELD: A POETIC AND PICTORAL TRIBUTE

Yon boulder field, so long and wide,
	A silent tribute to an eternal tide.
		Derived from sources easily found,
			Moved by forces far from certain,
				Veiled in part by forest curtain,
					Frozen now as rocky ground.
We stand on the surface and see a boulder or three,
	But heighten our vision and new sights do we see.
		Linear streams, long and straight,
			Circles of stone, complex and innate,
				Interwoven patterns, there to debate,
					Or, in the quiet eve, upon which to meditate.
What driving force emplaced this mass,
	And polished boulders smooth as glass?
		Me thinks it was ice,
			Not just once, but twice, or thrice.
Go forth to the field and test your mind.
	See if your view is some other kind.
		The end result is easy to find.
			The answer may boggle your mind.