They Rose

The twin granite pillars rose for thousands of meters above the fog like staunch ankles wading through silent streams. They rose like forearms raised in warning. They rose like men peering out over the ocean on a winter morning, searching for any sign of coming storms. They rose out of the fog like the torsos left behind on Rodin’s workbench. Broad as shoulders they rose. Sinewed like flesh they rose. Out of the fog they rose like brow bones thrust against the cycles of each day’s weather. They rose like the feet of a man lost in clutches of slumber.