Sunday, 15 May 2011

In Stone

The egg-shaped stone above reminds me a little of a Russian doll. A scarved babushka. Or clouds above a forest. Snow and glaciers. (I'd prefer not to think of it as a rugby ball, but then that's not being realistic, because of course it does look like one.)

Any geologist will tell you that in a stone lies the story of the earth. Molten layers cooling ... soft rock eroding away, harder rock remaining and all of this revealing time's layers.

This stone is a memento, brought back from the edge of the lake after our stay in Te Anau at the beginning of this year. When I look for stones to collect, I try to limit myself to only one or two, otherwise the tally would rapidly approach the ridiculous, with a ton of them in the boot weighing down our small car.

I see a nicer one and pick it up, discarding others, then see another that is superior, or different. I make myself decide. I can't own them all. No, own is not the right word. Borrow. I am a transporter of stones, like a river. Or, going by how many I have gathered over the years, a truck.


Dona Bogart said...


I am also a stone collector. I ask my friends to pick me up a rock when they travel and I am always looking for a special stone as I walk. I love the way a stone is always cool. You can hold one to your cheek and close your eyes and know the world has been here long before you and will be long after. Everything seems small after that. We are part of the flowing river of time.

I love your blog posts - I am always inspired.

Kay Cooke said...

Thanks Dona - I love how you have described the experience of collecting stones / rocks ... You've reminded me of the smell of them ... the smell of age.

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