At River’s Edge Beneath a Wall of Yellow Stone
I found myself alone a few years back on a river beach beneath a wall of yellow rock from which, I imagined, the river, the park, the region gained its name. The music of the river’s constant flow, the trees populating the canyon with variegated shades of green, the motionless stones lodged at river’s edge, some fallen to deeper waters, revealed to my pensive mind the timeless nature of our common reality. Timeless not in the sense of eternal, or ageless, and never changing, but more in an utter disregard for such illusionary concepts as time and space.
The land is philosopher. It teaches through patient being that knowing is as futile and useless as believing. Things are, circumstances unfold and collapse, and reality persists, regardless of what you know, despite what you may believe. The river’s constant song harmonizes to a silent wall of yellow stone. Until the walls roll down in thunderous songs that change the river’s melody into unimagined harmonies.
With that thought I stood up and hiked back to the canyon rim. I had heard enough.
[Daily post 050 of 260 in my year-long challenge.] ♨