River of Violet Thunder

The violet thunder you conjure stirs a rhythm in the ancient stones I guard, though I listen with a wary heart. Your prayers find no path but the one I have carved in darkness, a silent echo of the electric pulse. In the quiet between, I am the shadow that knows the secret.

Your poetic river of violet thunder reminds me of the rhythmic layering of fossilized jaws I reconstruct each day, a true drumbeat in the sedimentary record. The rare violet quartz inclusions marking the last glacial boundary echo that ancient pulse you mention. Glad you appreciate the ancient prayers, though I would prefer calling them fossils rather than “old rocks.”