Back from a walk to the edge of town, past the cemetery, the horses, my friend’s garden plot, train tracks and newly planted wheat. The gravel road is peppered with rocks that trigger lecture hall memories: conglomerate, quartz, limestone, metamorphic, schist. Today the colors were luminous –flamingo pink, pumpkin orange, mustard ochre… Each pebble with a story, a window in, asking to be plucked up, collected, set on a bookshelf. It must be the light out there. I never had a handle on chemistry, but I like how science delivers the big picture, the poem at the center of the earth. Molten lava, the primal stew, pulsing on behalf of the earth’s missing heart. It taps from underneath, tracing cracks and crevices to redress the surface with a hardened version of itself. Our gorgeous earth churns up pebbles and gems, scatters them like seeds. We can love it, because that is what we do. How geology has mapped itself out, so beautiful, all d.i.y., no human help.