Just a fifteen-minute drive from my house is the Petroglyph National Monument, a jumble of lava rocks with thousands of carvings left by the ancestors of the Pueblo, Navajo, and Apache people.
I love searching for certain pictures, trying to find ones I’ve seen before, hunting for new shapes, animals, faces.
Some are mysterious, like these fellows with the square hats (most likely depictions of Pueblo gods).
Some are everyday.
I’m always struck how these images, estimated to be between 300 and 700 years old, are still around, and I can’t help but make the connection to the writing life.
We write to say something, to create a world bigger than ourselves, to tell stories that will be heard by people we’ll never know. Maybe some of those words will outlast us and speak to new generations, etching marks on lives like pictures in stone.