The Mountain Waterfall, So Thin, So Powerful

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Photo #538: Mountain WaterfallLocation Taken: Banff National Park, Alberta
Time Taken: June 2010

There’s something really special about spotting a thin mountain waterfall.

A trickling cascade, finding the lowest spots it can to bring water down from the summit.

It tucks itself into niches and crevices, falls long distances where the land fades away, hides amongst trees where the air is warm enough to support them.

When I was a kid, being driven on long road trips, passing through the Appalachians, I’d stare out my window, trying to spot that glimmer of light and water, a brief view into something so close and yet so far, visible for all who pass and yet spotted by only a handful.

As an adult, knowing far more about the forces that shape our planet, I still love these trickling streams, carving away entire mountains one drop at a time. Somehow, that something so small can affect something that big really helps me not feel overwhelmed as just one of over seven billion of my species on this planet. It’s not your size that matters, it’s what you’re working on that really counts…

  

Here’s the Wasteland, now where’s my Money?

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Photo #537: WastelandLocation Taken: Craters of the Moon National Monument, Idaho
Time Taken: June 2010

That’s it, 537 posts under my non-existent belt and I’ve run out of ideas, it’s as blank as a wasteland here in my mind.

…Although, now that I mention it…

Wasteland is an odd sort of concept. Most wastelands aren’t blank, for one thing. They’re called wastelands because it’s land that’s too difficult to work, or has horrible soil chemistry, or one of the many other reasons that make it so we humans can’t use it. It’s a waste of good real estate is what it is, all these rocks and hills and whatnot.

For a very long time, wastelands were just ignored. You went around them, found some other piece of land that was a lot nicer. A few of them got attention after some mineral or another was found below them, but those are fairly rare. But at some point, someone looked at one of those forlorn wastelands and went “You know, that’s actually kinda pretty.”

And well, now we have tons of places that charge admittance to go see a pile of rocks or the like. It’s a big industry, brings in the tourist dollars, ya know. It’s tough to find a place that’s a true wasteland these days. It’s all either being used for some industry or another, or it’s got a price tag at the front gate.

Well, or it’s way out in the boonies. There’s still plenty of boonies out there, after all.

Such an odd word, boonies, now that I think about it…

  

Cold Lands Devoid of People, How I Yearn For You…

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Photo #535: WildlandsLocation Taken: Western shore of Newfoundland
Time Taken: July 2012

After a long day helping people on a bright sunny day, there’s nothing more I’d like than to get far far away from anything even resembling a human or a sunbeam.

Hissssss… People…. Hisssssss….

So the western shore of Newfoundland is sounding really nice right now. Lots and lots of clouds, high winds and rough terrain making it really tough to settle there, and fantastic rocks as well!

There’s other parts of Newfoundland that might be even better. There’s a whole central area full of rough terrain where no one at all lives, just moose, elk, more moose, and the like. Lots of nice rocks and waterfalls and trees and no roads anywhere even vaguely close.

Which is why I don’t have any photos of there. I haven’t actually been there. It’s tough to get into the types of places no one wants to live, since, well, if it was easy to get there, people would move in.

Which would, you know, defeat the purpose of places people don’t go. And alas, I am a people, so I don’t go there either.

  

In the Land of Large Rocks

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Photo #534: Strong StonesLocation Taken: Yellowstone National Park
Time Taken: October 2012

In the land of large rocks, I sit and think.

Of lands where no one chooses to live.

Of places too rough for all but the hardy.

Of travels that take a day to go to a place a bird can fly in a minute.

The rock is hard below me, the few trees rustle in the wind.

The bite of winter is in the air.

I shall not tarry long on these strong stones, for I have far to go, on paths much gentler than the ones here.