Mute Whisperers

We had found a trail.  The gentle trodden path curved with the slight rises and dips of the landscape that meandered around Little Donahue in a seamless loop.  Fresh spring sent tickled my nose with the damp mildew that lingered in the air.  The slight breeze brushed my bare legs as we made our way on the ice covered trail showing the first greenery and dirt of the season.  To our right lay Little Don, the ice that covered his body radiated his waters with a subtle aqua hue.  The sounds of woodpeckers and leaves echoed and bounced over him signaling the rebirth of spring.  Curiosity took the best of me and I found my way to the jagged shore traversing over logs and grass as I went.  Balancing on irregular ground I peered down to see the rugged, organic shapes of the shore and smiled at the sight of my most valued treasure: Rocks. 

I come from a family who has always valued the presence of rocks.  Our house is scattered with them, all labeled and dated from the various places we’ve witnessed.  It’s our trophy, our simple obsession.  When I first trekked to my ecology spot I noticed a small patch of earth in the sea of snow that surrounded the area.  Immediately I scavenged the ground, in search of my special treasure.  Picking and scraping the compacted dirt I gathered various masses of stone all of different shapes and mineral makeup.  I smiled at the idea of sending them to my family as a piece of where I was, here at Conserve.  I brought them home and put them on my desk for my personal examination.  Though it wasn’t until a friend of mine walked into my room and asked, “Why do you have rocks on your desk?” that I realized my family tradition was apparently not a “normal” one. 

                Through years of this mindless habit I have never questioned our practice until I fully emerged myself in the wildness of nature for this length of time.  Is it considered a crime if a traveler picks up a physical pleasure to the eye? Or should it be?  In many places that are protected by the government it is a rule and sometimes law that taking nature’s treasures is considered thievery and a disgrace.  So where does that line end?  Does taking a rock to remember a place and a time represent materialism and greed?  Would Mother Nature herself be proud to have a piece of her with you?  Or would she be ashamed that man could not easily overcome greed when eyeing something that appeals to their desires?  Whichever the case we will never know, all answers and wisdom are enclosed in the heart and song of the mute whisperers. 

The presence of a rock may bring a memory, good or bad.  However the true joy of observing nature’s mute whisperers in the palm of one’s hand brings utter fascination and wonder.  It may take time to realize that when holding a rock you are holding a piece of history, a piece of the puzzle that makes up the life of Earth in a jagged, original form.  Within each lies a story, each unique, each different.  The silent observations and records of the mute whisperers on Earth will never be told nor heard.  But if they could be, can you imagine what they’d say?