Enchanted Rock

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Enchanted Rock is a very large igneous intrusion extending deep in the earth's crust.

There are places on this Earth that are themselves holy, for lack of a better word. Their special quality is difficult to communicate to others, even if those to whom you speak have been there. Enchanted Rock is a batholith that is more than a billion years old. A billion years is time enough for starts to form, to die and to gather and form planets, and for those planets to form life.

Rich in the subtleties of the earth
             the pith of viper
             the butter of nut
             the fruit of seed
and though standing in the plain far from the sea
             the ocean current
and though mineral
             the clinging of a child
             the scramble of a suckling littler
             the eyes of Mesmer
             the nails of de Sade
and though earthbound
              the drift of the sun's arising
              the idles of mornings and twilight
              the harrowing of the moon.

The Rock should be experienced at least once in the full heat of July. Take no food or water. Pretend that you are going to a 'come as you are' party. Ignore, if you can, the State Park facilities. Walk far enough out so that you cannot your car.

One hundred and five degrees
Acorns pop open now and then
The creek is a shimmering trickle
of small pebbles and sand.
High upon the rock stands an oak in wind
defying the jewel of July.

The stag is at bay in the shade
where ticks and chiggers rule.
Only humans and small rodents scamper on stone.
Theirs is the quick dash
and the gathering along the way.

Rare grasses thrive along the droplet pools;
and rarer shrimp bunch there, a full cycle of life
in one summer.

As I was saying, Enchanted Rock is a batholith. Just last century one could probably still hear a slither of silence or the wild burro's bray. Native Americans came to this moment in space. It is no wonder that people still travel to see and to feel the rock. That they would travel into the middle of nowhere is a testimony to the ancient and primal urges that still flow in our blood. They still seek the rhythm of the moon and of the earth.

High upon the holy hill where the oak grips the granite
Each night star-shade and earth-shine conjoin
Deer and summer moss feed             
                 To form the gravity's tide
                            the circle of fire that suns
                            the vapor of air that rains
                            the living of earth that die

Among the ruins of a billion years
storm-cut, lichen-colored, wind-burned
Rises the Ancient of Rock.

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There's more where that came from!