Stones

This trio of stones came from the tough beaches of Port Townsend. As a geologist could tell you, each of these stones is a slightly different color and is very hard. A really good geologist could tell you why each stone has its own racing stripe. I am not a really good geologist, apparently.

I am, more accurately, like a little kid or a rock retrieving hound at heart. It's a flow experience for me, restive and reassuring. My eyes were trained on the shore rubble at my feet while Mt. Baker loomed across the sound. I've paid more attention to finding shells and rocks from watery places than I have helping the homeless, stopping hunger or splitting the atom.

One funny thing about me is that I'm always thinking "So-and-so might like this stone..." or maybe I'll find the perfect shaped stone for my love. It's just part of the internal selection process. Do others think about rocks like this? I chose the three above after winnowing down my choices from other fine candidates. Lined them up, Goldsworthy-style, took a family snap. A family of racing rocks.

I'll stop now about the rocks.