Stones seem comfortably inert to us, fixed, and, except for the light drizzle of evolutionary time, immovable.  We fancy, then, that if we carve our musings into them (chisel instead of pencil), our watery, shaky words will attain rock-hardness and become immutable.  We will live on, even if only as a trace.  Given the over-arching trajectory of time, however, we cannot expect more from a waiting rock than a lengthy kind of impermanence.  In the soft unscrolling of time, a carved stone is only a pocket notebook--a millennial post-it note.  Can these bones live? (Ezekiel 37:3).  Maybe until the cosmos flips to another page.