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"All Gizah Pyramids" by Ricardo Liberato |
I grew up hearing about the Seven Wonders of the World and spent
many hours pouring over photos of the Egyptian pyramids and the Great Wall of China.
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"20090529 Great Wall 8185" by Jakub Hałun |
These wonders are now prefaced by the term ‘ancient’—the
Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Man is basically homocentric. Within our species we vie with each
other, we compete and compare our accomplishments and laud our winners, and apparently
have done so throughout recorded history.
Consider some of the most
enduring monuments of man. As wondrous as the Great Pyramid of Giza is, the
once polished gleam of its walls has been worn to a broken and crumbling
edifice—still awe-inspiring in its own right, but undoubtedly faded in its
glory. The vastness of the Great Wall of China is still remarkable, but it too has
been severely degraded with the years. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Colossus of Rhodes and most of the other ancient wonders survive only in fragments or in legend—victims of conquering factions, erosion and natural changes occurring on the
planet’s surface. So as I stroll through photos of my own wanderings it occurs
to me that although these ancient monuments were certainly herculean
constructions of man, they are by no means the greatest wonders of the world. Historic marvels of
man continually flower and wither in the grind of the millennia, whether they are
marvels of the ancient world or the present one. Perhaps the greater wonders are the jewels of the natural world. All man need do is walk away from the tunnel of his daily existence
and into the wild to see the continuing metamorphosis of natural wonders.
Our planet apparently began as
a ball of magma, spinning round the sun. It must count as a wonder that from this hot soup oceans and continents eventually separated and congealed.
And since that time entropy has played on the
earth’s uniformity like a round of melodies using water and wind to carve
dramatic knolls and buttes from the craggy cliffs above the sea.
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Western coast of south island, New Zealand |
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View from Punakaiki, south island, New Zealand |
There is sublimity in a stormy coastline—the height, the gale of the wind over the water and the glimmer of the sun over the expanse all combine to leave us in awe.
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Coastline near Darwin, Australia |
Man is so tiny in comparison to the vastness of the rocky shore and the endless rolling waves, regardless of his tenacious
will. Of course, man loves to imagine himself at the center of all things. 'Man was made in the image of God,' (or was God made in the image of man). We like to believe the 'upward' march of evolution reaches a pinnacle in man and can't conceive of what could develop beyond him.
But the earth is ever-changing. Oceans
beat the shores until the seabed is thick with sand. Water cycles from rain to
river to sea, leaving the seeds of life awash in water and nutrients. Heat from the earth's core continually bubbles to the surface.
Elements
and time carve breathtaking forms—glacial concaves, deep canyons, sweeping valleys, and intimate
hollows—dressed in the colors and complexities of the life that clings to them, and man is just a part of that dressing.
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Canal in Canterbury, England |
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Glacier water in cove near Hokitika, New Zealand |
Life itself is the
byproduct of earth’s emergence from uniformity, in all its spectacular variety.
It blankets the landscape with color, texture and motion in a seemingly
infinite array of guises—a three dimensional kaleidoscope of morphing patterns,
textures and hues—bleached, chilled and churned by time.
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Summer runoff near Flåm, Norway |
What were once trees
are now rocks jutting out of the sand or polished and delicate sculptures adorning the shore or hillside.
Man lives out his days generationally, a thousand times, as other more ancient organisms endure for thousands of years growing quietly at a snails pace—letting
their surface shoots live out their days and die, while the mother root hordes its core of life under the soil.
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Aspen grove in Wasatch Mountains, Utah |
Its incredible that spores can hibernate through the ages until surface conditions are prime,
and only then use their resources to begin their life cycle. Wonders surround us. We are not at the center, we're just one of the multitude and in transition ourselves. That we can see and appreciate the complexities of the world is itself a wonder.
Even the more ordinary feats of nature—wooded slopes in the mist or overgrown glades with dappled light
peering through the canopies—can leave us breathless in the face of their beauty.
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Grove on slope in Norway |
Shells washed up on the beach seem to dance in clusters of color. Sandstone is textured by the breaking waves into rhythms of subtle shades. Dunes wear their windy existence in ever-changing swells, while grasses and cattails flex and bow like barometers of the currents that shape them.
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Sand dunes near Skagen, Denmark |
And flowers are everywhere, in the coldest tundra, in the driest deserts, among the weeds—delicate blooms of life in a stunning array of colors and shapes that have been millennia in the making. Aren't these actually the wonders of the world?
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Poppies among Roman ruins near Évora, Portugal |
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Aloe blooms in New Plymouth park, New Zealand |
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Yellow banksia in Wellington botanical gardens, New Zealand |
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Thistle in field near Edinburgh, Scotland |
We are part of the land's life cycle and part of the grind of time—both meal and wheel. With or without our man-made world, we will live our term and be churned into the dust with the rest of earth's little treasures, only to flower again in some other form another day. That is indeed a wonder, and somehow, it also pleases me greatly.