Rock

Taken at Agate Beach, near Bandon, Oregon, summer of 2010.  copyright 2010, Connie Schroeder

Sitting here looking at this familiar word, it almost feels strange...like a word from some foreign language.  I'm not sure why. Every once in a while if I look long enough at a word, it starts to look unfamiliar for some reason.  Who gave a rock this name?  Was it some cave dweller, long ago?  Is it more recent?  So many things pass through my mind when I think of the word.

Probably the thing that comes most readily to mind is my passion for finding beautiful stones.  Upstate New York isn't known for them.  There is mostly shale in this neck of the woods...Large shelves of rock in the mountains that have been in existence for what might be forever.  Most of my rock collection comes from Oregon, though I have gathered them from many places over the years.  I've always had a fascination for collecting these cool, often smooth, multi-colored, heavy, solid and beautiful things.

Recently I came home with an agate from the Connecticut shore.  It put the agates I've collected from Oregon right to shame. It's one of the largest I've seen.

One of my favorite spots to visit is a place called Columcille in Bangor, PA.  It is a garden of megoliths...standing stones, like the ones at stonehenge.  These particular stones however, have a clear history.  Cranes and large machinery put them in place.  They are magical, none the less.  

Well I guess that instead of trying to find a metaphor for some meaningful experience in my life, I'll just leave the topic as it is.