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Where blue green waters swirl and slow to deep, cold pools of liquid crystal, giants of another ocean lie. Huge boulders of sandstone, cast from sands of a prehistoric ocean that once owned this land where mountains now rule. So huge are these giants, that no powers on this Earth seem able to budge them, even fractions of an inch.
The most raging floods sent down from the highest peaks above, have smothered over the boulders, snarling and tugging at them in great brown currents like lions trying to bring down the beast. But when the floods give up and move on, the giants are still and unmoved. Like the lions, the floods will try again.
On quiet days you can swim the cold waters and bob beneath the shadowed over hangs and run your hands across the petrified ripples left from waves of that ancient ocean. How many times had my father swam me out to tread above the tugging depths, and darting rainbow trout, to see the past? And now how many times have I? Each time I am lost for words, but not for thoughts. How deep was this ocean? How far did it stretch? What creatures swam its chilly depths? How can an ocean have been where mountains now live?
When I swim back across the waters to the warm sandy beach, I am left with the feeling that I have encountered magic of a sort. Magic that let me reach back to touch another time, another place. I think that I can hear the waves. I whirl around to search this world, but only find the sky and wind .Beneath my feet on the wet, sandy beach, I see ripples formed and can only wonder if these will someday be giants of another ocean yet to be.
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