So often we focus on land and seascapes or particular flora or fauna. Case in point, do you not turn your head toward the direction of sound? Do you not look at tree from where an acorn has dropped or bird has chirpped? Of course, the waves breaking along the beach and the crest of a mountain can't be ignored either.
Traveling along the Ring of Fire was no exception. However, we began noticing the creations of nature as art. Photos zoomed in on a areas of nature itself with no distractions, nothing to stand out and draw your attention to a mere fragment of the picture. A lake was filled with boiling mud spouting up all over with sounds that plopped, spurted, beeped and groaned. One lone eruption looked like a miniature volcano spewing a silky gray material with streaks of black.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, a swirled section of untouched snow appear to be the lightest whipped cream in all the land. So light in some ways it seemed like it was made of cotton, or perhaps I should say cotton candy. I felt the need for fingers to caress the pattern the snow carved, to feel the smoothness.
Even the gentle ripples the wind created enhanced the flawlessly pebbled bottom of stream we hiked. One particular section was strewn with the same color, size and shaped pebbles. The color pattern was consistent with no shading to mar the area. No singular stone diverted attention from the creek floor as a whole. There was just the wavelets tracing watery diamond shapes across the top of the stream bed.
Similarly a section reminiscent of Zion, looked as if they had chiseled horizontal waves carved into them. Yet pastel shades of red, orange black and beige replaced the blue and green hues of water. Something as hard as rock could be designed so strikingly as to mimic the horizon during a spectacular sunset is amazing.
But another type of rock, the red sandstone for which Sedona is famous, has finger size holes everywhere. These air pockets are typically found in volcanic rock. The sandy feel of this rock begs for me to try out the finger size holes as if I were looking for the perfect bowling ball. I contemplated the idea that some tiny creature could use these for home rather like the hermit crab that moves from one discarded shell to another as he grows.
The realization that it is neither the speed at which you travel, covering more ground, nor the places you go, the more exotic the better, but rather the how much you really look that enhances the journey and makes worthwhile memories.