It

It isn't there anymore. But when it was, it was a sight to behold. You'd be climbing a hill in a car. more than likely, or in a train or on a wagon or horse if a hundred years ago, on foot if earlier than that; of course, go much further back and it wouldn't have been there at all. You'd crest that hill and there it would be, below you and to the right, or to the left if you took the southern route. Big as day, if day was big, which it would have been if it was summer, but if it was winter, big as night. If it was night, you wouldn't see it nearly as well, as it'd be dark. But it would be there just the same. Rising up, its "arms" to the sky, its "feet" planted into the ground, it "eyes" beckoning you to approach. And you, unsuspecting, young and naive, would do so willingly. And the stuff that was you and your car, train, horse and wagon, would only be remembered from that day forward, albeit with a whiff of nostalgia and longing for a simpler time, a time when danger was clear and defined, not like it is today.