I dedicate this to my Mom, my sister and to ‘R’ and M’. Some of my favourite Rock People…
I love rocks. I love knowing that they are permanent: as ancient as the earth. I am acutely conscious that they have survived ice ages, dinosaurs, cavemen, Vikings, famines and days without number. When I go to a beach, my eyes automatically scan downward in search of a particularly appealing treasure to tuck away as I walk. By the time I am ready to leave, my pockets are usually bulging with them. Before leaving, I carefully lay out my treasures and do a final triage: picking out the ones that I deem to have earned the distinction of being special enough to carry back to my home. And I always gently lay out the ones I have decided to leave behind, for the next person to discover. Or not.
I have a pretty ceramic dish on the coffee table in my living room where I keep the finest of my prizes. The ones that are as round and as smooth as golf balls. The ones with beautiful, intricate patterns and colours. The ones that are dappled with myriad dots, like a bird’s egg. One in the shape of a heart. One that is perfectly rectangular. I usually remember the beach or the riverbed where I found each one. Many of them come with a story attached; a memory from the day when I found them.
I recognise the people like me – the Rock People – by the way visitors to my home react to my little collection. The majority of visitors do not even notice. The Rock People though, will respectfully ask if it is okay to touch before carefully picking up and examining each treasure in turn.
As they silently examine my little cache, I always feel the quiet reverence of the Rock People: the kindred spirits who, like me, are not seeing ‘just a rock’ but rather, are touching an ancient piece of the earth: something beautiful and permanent and lasting.
Something that will be here long after we are gone…
Patti Moore Wilson/© wednesdayschildca.wordpress.com