Rocks In My Head

I've made many treks out to western Kansas in recent months, attending to my ailing mother, and whenever I'm there, I take long walks "out to the shed." This is a shed that sits just outside town, at the junction of two country roads. Back when my mom was younger, healthier, and was quite the walker herself, this was a favored route. I like it because it's peaceful and sets me alone against the endless blue horizon.

Walking to the shed takes me past the Protestant cemetery (the Catholic one is on the opposite end of town), on a dusty road bordered by wheat fields, and a ditch that harbors the occasional badger hole. The road is littered with rocks, and I can't resist reaching down to snag a few, coming and going. I'm drawn to their quirky shapes and delicious colors. Some look like caramel and some like wads of chewing gum. One rock I call the "meat rock" because it resembles a hunk of raw beef. I come back from some walks with my pockets bulging, because every rock I reach for looks like a keeper.

I may be missing a few marbles, but I got plenty of rocks!!

Some close-ups:

 Many of these are glossy and smooth, as if they had been polished and oiled, not plucked from  the dust.   

So many textures, colors and rough edges...

Soft, rosy shades, and in the foreground, rocks that look like my chewed up gum.  

These are the dark, brooding ones, darker than they look in the picture.  

These rocks in this pile are cool, creamy or contain little sparkly nuggets. They make me think of ice cream.

  These ones are very chalky. 

My big lugs.