climbing up steep
bare hillside from
the verdant jordan
river valley below,
two young disciples
find a stark white,
solitary statue atop
hill’s rocky terrain;
life-sized figure of
robed, middle-age
woman forever
paused mid-stride,
glancing regretfully
over her shoulder
pilgrims, startled by chance find,
circle her with low murmurs
“this is simply amazing, who knew?”
“such realistic details, sculpted by a master!”
“must be ancient yet so well-preserved”
one hiker touches lone pillar’s arm
and inspects grains rubbed off
“hmmm, smells like sulphur and tastes like salt”
companion blanches at sudden realization,
a discovery of biblical proportions.
a poem in my pocket 