Agassiz

[Big Agassiz Rock, on the North Shore of Massachusetts]

Summer 2010

I love the rock. I don't really know why -- just because, I guess -- maybe that's a good enough reason. I like climbing rocks; on them, over them, around them. It makes me feel like a kid again, playing on the ultimate playground. One foot after another, rock after rock, until at last, I reach the mammoth boulder with the ocean far, far in the distance.

The rock is not safe, because it is hard. Yet for precisely this reason it is secure. One tremor of the finger, or one lapse in concentration, and the foot is dashed against a stone. Pain upon pain! But I cannot turn away, for I am in a weary land and need a shelter in the time of storm. I crawl under, lay my face on the shady coolness, and hide in the cleft until the Glory has passed by. First the lighting and the thunder, then the wind and the rain, then silent, peaceful sleep.

In my dream, the rock comes alive! then grows larger and larger as I worm my way down the ravine I see in front of me. From the valley floor I see it rising, expanding, filling up the hole in the earth. The rock is pushing me now, hard against the crags, squeezing me so that I cannot breathe. I am enveloped in stone! I take one final gasp of air, and then, in a start, I awake.

So I cling to the rock once again and drink my fill, body splayed against its rugged face. Toes aching, fingers splitting, legs scraping, muscles burning, mind churning, I search for the next place, then the next, on which to stand. And the rock does not give way; for it is heavier that I, with greater mass and density. Never mind the blood or fatigue, they are only temporary. For now, resting firmly on the rock, I will keep the memory of this vista forever.

The rock is hard, but it is trustworthy.