Yellowstone Wolf (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} yllstonewolf) wrote,@ 2005-02-28 14:29:00 |
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Written in a Foreign Language - Revised
this reminds me of something captivating i read once. a while ago.
revised to include the story with permission ofcreekrnnngnorth
On the Green
A few years ago I was on the banks of the Green just inside Utah, in Dinosaur National Monument, watching the tears of the Wind River and Wasatch ranges flow past. The river bottom was a broad stretch of smooth, shallow ripples in the blonde sand. The current carried trace amounts of darker sand, iron oxide or something similar. Slowly, a few grains at a time, the dark sand would spill into the ripples, there to gather on the bottom until a stray current lifted them back into the flow.
I laid on my stomach on the sandbar watching the sand beneath the water. Slowly, slowly, lines of dark sand gathered, bent around the traces, drifted one into the other. I realized after an hour or so that I'd been trying to read the patterns, as if they were Arabic or Japanese characters assembling on the river bottom, scattering just as I felt I was about to comprehend their intent.
this is a collaborative post with chris clarke of http://www.faultline.org/place/pinolecr
this reminds me of something captivating i read once. a while ago.
revised to include the story with permission of
creekrnnngnorthOn the Green
A few years ago I was on the banks of the Green just inside Utah, in Dinosaur National Monument, watching the tears of the Wind River and Wasatch ranges flow past. The river bottom was a broad stretch of smooth, shallow ripples in the blonde sand. The current carried trace amounts of darker sand, iron oxide or something similar. Slowly, a few grains at a time, the dark sand would spill into the ripples, there to gather on the bottom until a stray current lifted them back into the flow.
I laid on my stomach on the sandbar watching the sand beneath the water. Slowly, slowly, lines of dark sand gathered, bent around the traces, drifted one into the other. I realized after an hour or so that I'd been trying to read the patterns, as if they were Arabic or Japanese characters assembling on the river bottom, scattering just as I felt I was about to comprehend their intent.
this is a collaborative post with chris clarke of http://www.faultline.org/place/pinolecr
