Posts Tagged jewels

Rocks and a hard place.

They still seem to me to be jewel rocks,
all the forms of quartz,
perched here and there, watching what we do.

Quartz can enclose emeralds and sapphires,
unless they’re crystal and you can see they don’t.

Posed wherever they are pleased to,
milky white and rose and clear and tawny brown,
quartz is a family of precious, semi-precious, and mundane,
amethyst, chalcedony, agate, citrine, tourmaline, beryl.

Clutched by roots, bedded in the road,
or in the branch, simply there,
inhabited by life forms, some that share their surfaces,
some that invade and digest them at the old pace of gaciers.

The ants, both black and red,
which probably will bring trouble,
are building a metropolis in the middle of the path.

A human body with a camera looming over their city
sends them underground in an instant,
quicker than a Cooper’s hawk clears a yard of birds.
There were thousands crossing and crissing as I approached,
then there were none.
Zoom in on the picture and you’ll see,
in nearly every hole, ant heads looking up,
waiting for the all-clear.

The holes are new, they have no hills yet to shed rain.
Every couple of weeks they will be overrun by a 700 pound mower.
This was not an auspicious siting.

Perhaps they will endure regardless,
or be crushed, or move a few feet sidewards.

I’m betting they will outlast me, one way or another, as will the rocks.

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Duration, variable: rock for the ages, spore for a day.

We wondered, when we first walked the trails here below the Little Sandy Bald,
if the blocks of quartz we saw every three or four steps,
pebble size to boulder size, clear and rosy and cloudy,
held rubies or emeralds inside,
or sapphires, the fancy forms of quartz.

Walking on jewels; we still are.

In nature, square corners.

Quartz with veins.

Most fungal entities are brief,
pop through the soil for a week
then begin immediately to decay.

Sun shock.

Lichen shelf.

But some harden and settle in for the long term.
And become habitats themselves.

New to me.

New variety.

90º around the trunk,
slipped sidewards in time
comes a fresh beginning.

We all did.

Ooze of birth.

The Jain swish the path before their steps
to insure they don’t crush a bug.
I’m less moved by bugs, but hate to find I’ve crushed one of these.

Thrust their buried spores.

Just looks phallic.

Or a family of these.

Read my mind.

Loam cardinals.

Or even one of these.

Holding a little rain.

Just one.

Not this.

Almost all the way around.

Member of extended family.

Not these.

Puff the magic.

Spore bomb.

Or this one.

Citrus are us.

Just one of these, a hole to breathe or blow.

The parent organisms live underground,
safe from my steps,
busy being the synapses between tree roots
powering the internet of trees.
Really: this is fresh-made science.

Be thankful God does not spend all his time deciding softball games
and litigating kidney stones.

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