No one could move it. Over the years many had tried. Yet there it remained in the center of the conurbation, surrounded by the suburbs and smaller towns rubbing together on all sides, yet unable to do nothing to nudge it from existence. For it had been in place long before the metropolitan area sprouted.

Was it right for council members to vote and insist on it’s removal simply because progress deemed the modern edge of society held more power? Who is to say what is modern and what is not? Who among these generations can gage the power it possess? Not one of them knows how it came to be, nor why it is important to remain. They are too lost within their dark world to see the light of its value, taste the blood and sweat to shape it’s form, smell the bigotry and hatred spewed from its core, hear the cries of anguish which seared deep scars across its land, nor feel the unmoveable strength it has locked in place. They hold no memory, for it’s beginning is a foreign event, lost to all over time long ago began.

The first blow cast to aid in its removal did nothing as did the last. In time every conceivable measure and weapon was used and exhausted. They dug and dug around it’s mammoth base only to find no beginning or end. Like a brave steadfast king standing as solid as hardened stone before his enemy, it moved not. Upon closer inspection, no man could identify the properties from which it is made. No tool carried the weight or strength to cast a mark on it’s solid form.

In ardent frustration it was decided they would build over it’s massive height and girth. But every attempt met with disaster and lives lost. If they would not think so hard and take the time to accept its presents they would discover the key to unlock its treasured power. But can it be helped that they are bred of impatience?

If only they would explore this one simple question. Can one move a mountain with his hands? Yes, but one must know the secret touch upon the face of the land. Until then, it was, and is, and will be tomorrow.