I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.
– Willa Cather |
The Rock |
| The rock lay in silence. I picked it up and rolled it over in my hand. Ow! It was sharp.
But it was its shape that first attracted me–a near perfect L about one hand high.
Heavy and coarse, it sheltered lichen, ants and spider eggs.
As I caressed the rock, it came alive and told me its story. |
| The Rock was born high in the Rocky Mountains when forces from far beyond pushed it into the sky.
When Rock came to the surface, it looked down on the valley far below. Rock stuck out of a climber’s crag,
out of reach of the hikers on the trail below. Once a group camped nearby, but no one came up to visit Rock.
Rock was lonely. |
| Finally, after many years of waiting, the climbers came. Rock heard their excited voices and the clink of gear
being racked up. Rock prepared for the supreme test. The leader approached, looked at Rock, then chose another hold!
So close! As the leader climbed above, the rope brushed Rock for a fleeting moment, but it was not enough.
Rock wanted to feel a human hand. |
| When the second climber approached, Rock clung to the crag in readiness, reciting,
“I cannot fail, I must not fail, I will not fail!”
The climber eyed Rock, then reached out with a testing pull. |
| The second shouted up to the leader, “Wow! You missed a good hold here, mate!” |
| Before Rock could react, the climber pulled hard. It was the supreme moment! Rock held. |
| It was not a climber’s pull that sent Rock to the meadow below, but a great storm.
Rock was happy in the meadow, but yearned to be back on the crags.
I told Rock that I would take him there. |
| – Gerry Roach - 1996 |
Rock |
