The symbiosis of wood and stone is compelling, both in nature and in architecture.
At first the timeless solidity of a rock appears to be no match for the organic softness of wood.
But clearly the trees find stability, and hold on.
Without the trees, this landscape would look barren, at best a symbol for an unachievable perpetuity, an abstraction, like a Japanese Zen garden.
Sometimes, wood and stone seem to merge and become one, only different on the scale of time.
The word gorge is a gorgeous word, probably stemming from Latin gurgulio, which means throat. The Clifton Gorge in John Bryan State Park formed after dolomite deposited on shale, and the softer shale started to erode.
Think about the armored skin of animals that protects softer layers and breaks with age or patience.
The state park essentially surrounds this gorge, with long hiking trails following it on either side. Towards one end, the gorge narrows so that twigs from trees on opposite sides may touch.
When the dissolution of the skin has progressed, what remains are large blocks of dolomite, that seem to be deposited magically into the landscape.
They are like memories from a past that is otherwise forgotten, but still form the character of the landscape, without explanation.
Time flows on.
And erosion still continues, mercifully.