Of Funnels and the Memories of Rocks


United States
40° 41' 10.14" N, 111° 8' 29.1228" W

Art is truth,

Or so it's been said.

I'd say that's up to you.

Nature makes art.

I know that art is truth.

I saw it today.

On some beaches,

There are two kinds of sand.

One is normal tan sand.

The other is silty black sand.

Sometimes nature’s art is better than man’s.

When the tide rolls in,

The sand moves with it.

So do rocks and shells.

When the tide rolls out,

It looks like it’s pushing

The next tide back.

It’s a futile attempt.

But you can see it,

If you look at just the right moment

The black sand leaves marks

When the tide pulls away.

They look like funnels, kind of.

They point out to sea.

I'd say that's art.

Every impression

Every rock

Makes a new funnel

Even your feet in the sand

Will make a funnel

If you stand

And look down

The funnels are temporary,

But the ocean isn’t.

People are temporary,

But life isn’t.

Some people would disagree,

But life is like the tides.

It moves in and out,

And leaves impressions.

Not unlike the funnels.


When I was here last,

Here at the ocean,

I picked up a rock.

It was black

And it fit in my hand

Really, really well.

I really liked that rock.

And I kept it.

I never thought

It would mean anything.

Nature makes another kind of art.

It's more permanent than funnels

This year I picked up a rock.

It was small

And white.

But it was stained

with green

and grey

and the sparkle of mica.

I guess I had a hand in this art.

But nature was the real artist.

The tide moved it

The rock made a funnel.

Then I picked it up.

I'm keeping it with me

And I'll leave it by the black one.

The art is the contrast:

Between black and white.

Between two years ago and today.

Between love and loss.

Between smooth and rough.

Between a life and its memory.

That’s nature’s art.


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