We have an allegiance to rocks. They are symbols of stability and commitment to the land that has nurtured us from infants to aging adults. Just as ancient northern wayfarers used them to mark their journeys to new places and new adventures, we have them around us to remind us of our dependence and gratitude to the land that has provided that nurture and given us direction.

We have named this figure, Farley, after Farley Mowat the author of The Far-Farers. [We noticed today Farley has gained status in the neighborhood: a bird had perched on his head. Soon we expect there will be bird shit on him which is the true initiation rite a statue must receive to be part of the local environment.]

Today my partner asked if I had noted the irony in the front yard scene. With that prompt, I wrote the following poem.

Hideous Reality


Facing each other across the street
On one side
A proud Minnesota Viking balloon.
On the other
A modern day Inukshuk of glacial stone.
Both imbued with zeal—
the kind that only comes from religious
commitment, I suppose.
The airy football icon rousing his
true believers to
piss their pants if necessary.
While the stone warrior of ancient lore
wishes someone would notice
his wagging head.