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I often sit on a mushroom cap and ponder what it would be like to be rock blind
Imagine if all rocks looked pretty much the same
Imagine if you could only recognize a rock not by its distinctive colors or crevasses
But by the grass growing around it
Or the moss growing on it
Or the paint some little kid splashed on it

I often roll in a patch of four leaf clovers and think about people who are rock blind
How it must be feel when they're children to be poked fun at by all the junior geologists
Or how hard it must be to find a date when all anybody talks about are magma flows and crystallization processes
Or how the world must feel below them when they can't even see the ground they're walking on

I often stare into a blank face and think about everybody else who is rock blind
If only they could see what I see
If only their photo albums would come to life with splashes of rainbow of quartz, granite and limestone
If only faces meant less and rocks more

The world might actually make sense
If everyone stopped being rock blind


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The following comments are for "Rock Blind 3"
by claudita





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