HEAVEN IS A HANGING
Jim's old cabin was out in the woods where
we used to hunt streambed fossils in Waverly.
It probably doesn't sound like much, but it was
pretty cool - little streams and rivulets which ran
down off the hillsides and meandered their way
into the nearby Susquehanna. Wooded paths,
everything all mossy and green, with the little
trinklings of water running this way and that.
No one had touched things for years.
High water times, now and then, maybe
disturbed the stream-bed, tossing things around
a bit, but not often. It was all pretty much as
undisturbed as it could be. These rocks were
everywhere, loaded with markings and the
fossils of plants and aquatic things.
One time, I swear, we found the Rosetta Stone
of all fossils. About maybe the size of a shoe,
it was covered with the hieroglyphic type markings,
on either side, of prehistoric time. With little to
go on, I'd just had to guess. We dragged it back,
where it sat on my little porch for some three years.
In the length of my time, a meaningful grouping.
In the glimpse of geological time, a real, lame
joke and what was I ever thinking? Then, I
moved away and somehow over time (my
time) that rock got lost.