The Face in Stone

A literary miniature about attention, beauty, and what years of looking still cannot make ours.

After years of looking, the face did not become clearer.

That was the first surprise. I had thought repeated attention would make the stone more available, that familiarity would soften the distance between the one who looks and the thing looked at.

But the opposite happened.

Weather had worn the mouth. Lichen had crossed one cheek. In early light, the eyes seemed almost present. By noon they withdrew into stone.

I had come often enough to recognise the changes.

Not often enough to claim the face.