Half an eternity has passed.
Another half to go.
The old buzzard’s been rolling that boulder up the hill.
Only to watch it roll back down again.
Every frigging time.
His bursitis is flaring up.
He’s about had it.
When his friend Bob drops by.
As he’s nearing the top of the hill yet again.
Bob disappears into the woods.
Comes back with a small log.
Shoves it under the boulder.
They both step back and contemplate it.
“That oughta hold it,” Bob says.