Brush Fires and Granite

I had dinner with a friend last weekend, who is often my dependable wall to bounce thoughts off. Whenever we are together we immediately fall into some philosophical dilemma, discussing some societal woe. I cherish my time with her, even if we rarely have time to meet. She is one of a mere handful of people who set fire to my imagination. Conversations started in person, finished by text, or written of while contemplating over coffee, round out my inner life.

I look out on to the forest where I live, and think of the tangled ways our conversations wander.

Another friend said "of course everyone wants granite this and granite that! They are so far removed from nature that granite-everything is the most outside thing they can conceive." I was hooked by this idea. I went home and considered the travertine marble floor in my sunroom. "Did I tile in marble because I miss the outdoors, rocks and sunshine?" No, at least, I think not. I applied solid reasoning to my flooring choice. The marble is cool during the summer, which is long here. It doesn't get slippery under a dog's feet. It always looks clean. And it is in the room we use to get from the house to the forest oasis.

But in returning to what he said: is the granite phenom owed to humans missing their connection with the planet? If so, the remedy is not tile in a bathroom, or a new stone sink.

The remedy is campfires, and bug bites. It is sleeping outdoors in the humid heat, and shivering cold. The moon so bright it throws shadows. Waking to the rosy sky, after rolling out of a damp tent.

Yes, yes, I believe he stated the problem of our modern withdrawal from nature quite clearly. I was impressed by his unpopular statement, as antagonistic as it sounded at the moment. Condemning, even, sweeping judgement of our society gone awry. Throwing all those granite countertops into a dusty pile of gravel, he nailed a societal ill. It is a thought I have revisited numerous times.

He set me a brush fire, and left it to burn.