rock.

January 19, 2014 § Leave a comment

“…your memory is a warm stone hidden in my hand I’m always turning over…”  – John Geddes

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Box Elder Peak

Box Elder Peak

http://utahpictures.com/Box_Elder_Peak.php

* * *

“No Geologist worth anything is permanently bound to a desk or laboratory, but the charming notion that true science can only be based on unbiased observation of nature in the raw is mythology. Creative work, in geology and anywhere else, is interaction and synthesis: half-baked ideas from a bar room, rocks in the field, chains of thought from lonely walks, numbers squeezed from rocks in a laboratory, numbers from a calculator riveted to a desk, fancy equipment usually malfunctioning on expensive ships, cheap equipment in the human cranium, arguments before a road cut.”  – Stephen Jay Gould

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North Cirque Box Elder Peak

North Cirque Box Elder Peak

http://www.summitpost.org/north-cirque-box-elder-peak-utah/508178

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“The geologist takes up the history of the earth at the point where the archaeologist leaves it, and carries it further back into remote antiquity.” – Bal Gangadhar Tilak

* * *

North Cirque

North Cirque

http://www.summitpost.org/north-cirque-box-elder-peak-utah/508170

* * *

“The rock I’d seen in my life looked dull because in all ignorance I’d never thought to knock it open. People have cracked ordinary New England pegmatite – big, coarse granite – and laid bare clusters of red garnets, or topaz crystals, chrysoberyl, spodumene, emerald. They held in their hands crystals that had hung in a hole in the dark for a billion years unseen.
I was all for it. I would lay about me right and left with a hammer, and bash the landscape to bits. I would crack the earth’s crust like a piñata and spread to the light the vivid prizes in chunks within. Rock collecting was opening the mountains. It was like diving through my own interior blank blackness to remember the startling pieces of a dream: there was a blue lake, a witch, a lighthouse, a yellow path. It was like poking about in a grimy alley and finding an old, old coin. Nothing was at it seemed. The earth was like a shut eye. Mother’s not dead, dear – she’s only sleeping. Pry open the thin lid and find a crystalline intelligence inside, a rayed and sidereal beauty. Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetical flowers. They lengthened and spread, adding plane to plane in awed and perfect obedience to an absolute geometry that even the stones – maybe only the stones – understood.”  – Annie Dillard

* * *

North Cirque

North Cirque

http://www.summitpost.org/north-cirque/508154

* * *

“Meltwater (from the book Blue Bridge)

Up here. A face
Loses its lines

I look to see
The colour of your eyes …
They have turned
To water.

I lean forward
To catch
The scent of your hair –
All I smell is heather.

I touch your hand
And all I feel is earth and stones.
There is nothing left
But the hillside’s breast

Your flesh and bones
Have vanished.”  – Jay Woodman

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