If these rocks could talk

At flood stage our creek roars like Niagara and at midsummer it makes no sound at all, but at just the right depth the water flows over the rocks with the sound of muffled voices, one high-pitched and chatty and the other deep and rumbly, the voices running over and under one another and sounding as if someone has left a radio on in the next room. I keep thinking that if I pay attention I'll be able to make out the words, but of course there are no words, just water burbling over rocks.

The weathered stone face peering down from the cliff above our driveway looks as if it wants to open its mouth and speak solemn wisdom, but if rock ever gains the power to speak, the face will probably want to ask me how I've walked past it for 14 years without ever noticing its presence. Every time I think I know this place pretty well, nature shows me something new.

Today, despite the cold, buds are swelling and tiny blossoms bursting forth, and down along the creekbank green shoots are poking up through the flood-washed silt. I saw a woodpecker tree with near-rectangular holes and another rotting tree looking like some massive boar's snout, but I'm more curious about how one tree revealed its heartwood through a heart-shaped hole. I may never know the answer because the trees won't tell, and neither will the rocks or the buds or the water. 

But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop listening. If I keep paying close attention, maybe one day I'll make out the meaning.

Can you hear the voices babbling?

I heart trees!

Now that I've seen the face, I can't un-see it.