What’s special about these rocks?
On our trip to Utah a few years ago, our group leader recounted a conversation from one of her earlier trips. A participant asked the tour geologist what was special about the red rock formations they were seeing. That is, why had these bits survived and the surrounding rock not so much? Were they a different kind of rock? Had they been subjected to different erosion forces?
They’re not special.
They’re just what’s left.
Eventually even this vista before them would become red grit in the wind, red silt in the creeks, red sand underfoot. It just hadn’t had its turn yet.
Sometimes it’s all in how we frame the question. What’s different about these rocks?
What’s special about them?
Every day things change around me. Some passages I can see: the fading flower, the blooming grandkids. Some I cannot: the expansion of the universe, the evolution of life. And the erosion of the red rocks at Sedona.
I’m privileged to be able to stand where I can see what’s here. To see what’s left. None of it is different, but all of it is special.