Love in the rocks…

Or love on the rocks? Or love rocks? Or Rocks of Love? Grammatically and in essence I couldn’t make up my mind as none of these titles actually really define what I mean.

Maybe I should go with “heart” something, as in, My heart of Rock, Rock’s hearts or My heart in the Rock.

Perhaps the last is best.

All that in an attempt to explain my morning’s serendipity.

Now my family and friends are well aware that “my” mountains – or any mountains available – are a source of great pleasure and add to my wellbeing. In fact two or three days of only city, or flat country are enough to have me depressed, but it did take awhile before the reason dawned upon me – a lack of mountains.

I recently found out that I have also passed on my need to gather rocks to my younger son. Just looking around the house testifies to that particular passion although I have long given up trying to label them, I most likely have at least one from every trip I ever took and I have a hard time preventing myself from picking up more every summer when I am here.

So this morning I am out on my usual walk – and carefully keeping my eyes on the path whilst in motion as we know what happens when I don’t – and even sometimes when I do and lo and behold right in front of me, at my feet, a heart in the stone.

Ah the mountains return my love.

A heart in my path