The mountain watches, unmoving and unmoved. It’s harsh rock faces unchanging. It watches as the sun rises, sets, and rises again. As the seasons change. As the flowers unfurl from beneath the ground, bloom, wither and die.
The mountain sees the people come. They build and gather. They work, sleep, eat, breed, fight, kill and die. They come and they go. The settlement grows. From tents to wooden huts, huts to brick homes, homes to towering skyscrapers. Death out-paces life until none is left. The buildings crumble. In the cracks the flowers unfurl, bloom, wither, die.
The mountain watches.
Maybe I should start writing drabbles more again. That was fun!