If any one rock expresses for me the metaphor the Psalmist uses in words like this (Psalm 18): “The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower,” it is El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. Contemplation of this edifice over time probably contributed to my love for rock and stone. It may seem odd, or lazy, that I’ve never made the effort to study geology or petrology. All I do is stare at the big rocks and collect some pretty little rocks. The latter are good to put on the soil around succulents and keep the roots warm.
To be truthful, I collect some medium-sized stones as well and haul them down from the mountains on occasion, with the help of stronger and less enthusiastic members of the family. Granite. These are not only reminders of larger hunks of granite, such as El Capitan, but they are very useful in the garden, for beautifying generally, adding another texture and color to contrast with leaves and flowers, or the colors of the cats who sit on them. In some places they also prevent cats from engaging in other less desirable activities.
But in Monument Valley I was thrilled at aqua blue rock faces gorgeously setting off the mostly red cliffs. As we climbed out of the car and hiked in among giant boulders and hills of rock, I looked forward to taking their pictures.
Unfortunately, we were in the middle of a sandstorm, which made it unsafe to use one’s camera. My companions said, “What are you talking about? There is no blue rock here!” And when I got close to these piles of brilliant color and picked up some of the chips of sandstone, it wasn’t bright at all, but sort of grayish-white.
This photo I risked (above, with a man behind it) shows the bluest rock I saw–as it looks to normal people. I am still puzzled as to what was going on that day. If the rocks were reflecting the blue sky, why didn’t the others see that? Did I have blue sand in my eyes?