Third Planet From the Sun, Number 2

Some rocks may crumble into lifeless sand or drift like shifty grit beneath my arch, while others face the elements and stand as guard against the ocean's forward march. Some rocks jut out; cut back in jagged spears much like a corpse's silent, toothless scream, while others flaunt and pose, with velvet ears worn smooth against the angry mountain stream. Yet who can trigger change through night to day from bleed-out red to sullen, pitch-black walls, or who can forge this trend of glum array when softer hues might grace her stony halls? We climb hills, trek deserts stark and bare, and hail the blossoms bravely waving there.