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A rock fence stacked about 200 years ago
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I come to these flowers and rocks, a simpleton, with a bit of
research, a trifle of knowledge, and absence of wisdom. I came to study earth, and have only pictures
to show. Flowers come and go in their yearly
cycles. Rocks likewise rise and erode
away, or sink back into the mantle below some dominate plate. And I can’t figure any of it out.
Perhaps I should ask the one of whom it is written, “Without him nothing was made that was made.” But he’s been silent on the subject, perhaps delaying his return until some simple and obvious light dawns on just one of us. And left his logo in the rock?
I have found little to read concerning how this high and deeply dissected plateau we call the western Ozark Mountains formed. The rocks here are little disturbed—flat-lying sedimentary layers of Paleozoic age, formed maybe half a billion years ago, so I’m told.
This used to be the bottom of an ocean, they say, limestone at lower layers, sandstone near the top. They say the layers are rippled because ocean waves formed them. But I see ripples in all the rocks and wonder how the entire bottom of an ocean can be rippled by waves?
Some of the rocks have little round potholes in them. And in another rock I see a hard round ball. Did they mate here and produce baby rocks?
Some of the surfaces of split layers look like ancient inscriptions or hieroglyphics. Others look almost like fossils of plants or animals.
Higher up on Hare Mountain, limestone gives way to sandstone, which they call Pennsylvanian Sandstone, same as found throughout many states, as if the matter is settled.
This rock looks completely out of place. It appears warped and heated like hot taffy, but no metamorphic rocks are supposed to be here.
I am hoping that some of you can help me with the names of the wildflowers. On the left, she reaches out with six arms to welcome the bees. On the right, she takes the plump, short, three-arm approach.
On the left she jumps out of her red dress. On the right her soft green flesh lures the unsuspecting.
A shy one, you seldom see her, but on occasion she peeks out from under her shroud and shares herself with a kindred spirit.
Beauty in the leaves of a common green tree.
Beautiful pictures. I understand your lack of words to explain. Maybe nature just wants us to be witnesses- breath in, breath out, close eyes, open. Everything still there but we're different. When you come back, present a mini program on your trip at Wide Open Readings.It will be special. Elsa
ReplyDeleteThanks Elsa, good to see you here. Nature is wondrous, as breathed, witnessed, studied and appreciated in all I see and do there. A mini program? How long?
Delete15-20 minutes. What do you think?
DeleteThat would be fine, Elsa. I know you don’t have features at that reading, but I would include other poets who have sent poems inspired by the pictures and text. I would bring a projector and screen and show pictures with the poems superimposed on the pictures, When is the next Wide Open Reading? If anyone else wants to show pictures, I can do so for them. They just have to email me the jpeg files. You can answer me by email if you wish.
DeleteSharon you've stepped into a time warp. Wordless rocks and nameless flowers, textured surfaces suggest alien creatures. Hmm. I think those miniature potholes were created by prehistoric Humvees. Gorgeous photos! x Lois
ReplyDeleteYes Lois, I've stepped back into wonderments that perplexed the ancients before science. This land is old and retains its oldness, unlike our Southland with thoughts of transformers and prehistoric Humvees. I like both, but it feels comforting to warp backward.
DeleteWhat a fascinating and mysterious lot you have run into here. Your questions make us wonder too and look at things a little more deeply. Enjoyed hearing the language of your talk with another lone hiker. Makes us feel as if we are there with you.
ReplyDeleteYes Pauli, it's an old and mysterious country, not grand and majestic like our western mountains, but slow, relaxed, settled in its ways. And the people move with a solid slowness, steady roots in the land. They get as much done as we do in frantic Southern California, for it seems to me that getting things done has little to do with speed.
DeleteWhen I wandered an early trail, I remember an early poem
ReplyDeletelittle purple flower
without name
you are my song
to the morning
I think there is nothing so inspiring as wordlessness
it is a silent wonder that has a potency.
Nature in fact....
Thank you for sharing the silence and beauty of the trail.
Yes Kathabela, the silence of the trail when the wind is down and every distant woodpecker adds some potency of words to the wonder. You say so much in these few words. Is the "purple flower" poem yours, or do you remember an early poem from another? You have been so prolific with short poems along this trail; I want to use them in some rendering and give proper credit.
Delete"little purple flower" is a poem I wrote, in Staten Island I think, when my children were little...I remember the moment when I was walking and first wrote it in my head... smiles...
ReplyDeleteand happy you think you will be here before we leave!
To think that some expand their awareness of that which is around them by taking a bus instead of their car ... how many worlds there are in this one in which we think that we dwell. And, here you are, pondering the contrast of flowers and rocks, their lives, their dance, their beingness accompanying yours. and, here we are on our computers, vicariously dancing this dance with you. All of this magnificence encapsulated in a 'blog' ... that's like all of creation encapsulated in the one word, God. These are the late night mind wanderings of a Starshine.
ReplyDelete