When I was a boy I would spit on rocks that I would find. I did it to make them wet. It seems as though the beauty of the rock would come out. The colors were more robust. I could see the true identity of the rock. Some of these rocks I have kept. I think life has a way of spitting on us at times. And our true colors come out. And I wonder if I am a collectable.
One thought on “Spitting on rocks”
Beautiful sights with Mo…I like to read your writing, thanks for sharing.