As a young boy, I imagined I would one day build a castle from all the rocks I collected. Well, that never happened. But, in a sense, my collection of rocks is a fortress around me. My house is filled nearly end to end and each specimen has a memory or story attached. Some I have had with me since I was only a boy of four or five. Some I have had for less than a month. My rocks bring me comfort, security, and joy. In this way, they are a fortress of sorts.
A couple of days ago, after suffering a series of
minor personal failures, I took a walk along one of the ravines at the edge of
the prairie near my house. Sections of the ravine are comprised of exposed
diluvium (the result of ancient floods). I plucked two small rocks from the
ground there: a piece of petrified wood and a shiny hematite nodule. These are
now the latest addition to my collection.
The weight of just those two small stones is easily
enough to balance out the entirety of a bad day.
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