Quite a few years back, at about 13,000 feet above sea level on a mountain called Long’s Peak, surrounded by the boulders of a massive hill slowly falling apart (and freezing my butt off) I decided that I simply love rocks. Why? It would bore the snot out of anyone reading this, but I will try to share some of my perception. I have always appreciated geology and physics. But it was that morning just after sunrise trying to “conquer” a 14k ft+ landmark that a unique focus sunk in to my being.
There is an obvious grandeur in mountains and canyons, but it is also in the details. The next time you get a chance to sit down and really look at a rock, try this. Look really deeply into a small section of it, like a quarter of an inch square. Try to see all of the tiny inclusions, cracks, folds and bends and shiny bits. Think about how they got there. Think about how old it is. Think about what it went through to be as it is now. Get it wet, then rub it a little. See how it changes. Now back your gaze away to take in the enormity of the place it came from. In all of it’s types, compositions, distributions, millions of varying properties and millions of varying uses, if it weren’t there, we’d have no place to stand. Maybe climbing up a fairly steep mountain trail at three in the morning, several degrees below freezing with pretty thin air to breath had something to do with it, but I think that’s pretty cool.