Poem, Sagas, Short story, Weekend

Watching memory.

How many great things have happened. How many deeds recorded and battles fought, how many times the world has changed from a single act of plan or spontaneity. How many great and noble folk have undertaken those acts and tasks or bore witness to the end of one world and beginning of another.

However many of such acts and deeds there are, how ever many names there are to add to lists and tomes of glory and great histories, there are always those who watch. Those whose names and acts will always be forgotten. Perhaps for a greater good.

For none will notice the sands and gravel which holds up the great and giant rocks on land or in a stream. Even were they to wash away by wind or rain or current, none of them at all would be missed, until the last great one would slip away and see the great and giant rocks fall.

No event or chain thereof will ever be complete so long as those names be forgotten. But histories will change for those who need them to, as the sands and fine gravel are forgotten until the world begins anew.

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