<ravikovitch's "pride"> 2002-11-25.12:19 a.m. Pride Dahlia Ravikovitch I tell you, even rocks crack, and not because of age. For years they lie on their backs in the heat and the cold, so many years, it almost seems peaceful. They don't move, so the cracks stay hidden. A kind of pride. Years pass over them, waiting there. Whoever is going to shatter them hasn't come yet. And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed whips around, the sea pushes through and rolls back-- the rocks seem motionless. Till a little seal comes to rub against them, comes and goes away. And suddenly the rock has an open wound. I told you, when rocks break, it happens by surprise. And people, too. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad