A school of plankton drifts. Too primitive to think survival, they run straight into the open mouth of a mollusk. Billions more fall to the bottom, past the point even light can’t pass. Each no larger than a hair’s breadth, they make up the ocean floor.
The plates grind against one another. Magma boils. Crust cracks. Erupts. When the last wisp of smoke dissipates, a barren field opens up. An otherworldly quiet hangs in the hot air. A pair of gerbils climb the slope.
I chiseled at the bulbous handle. The girth wasn't impressive—I could wrap my fingers around its narrowest point—but it clung to the rest of the mountain so steadfastly that I gave up more than once.
These basalt samples from the Amboy Crater were transformed into a musical instrument. The Arduino clock arm strikes the face, and the sound travels all the way to the deep sea.
The plates grind against one another. Magma boils. Crust cracks. Erupts. When the last wisp of smoke dissipates, a barren field opens up. An otherworldly quiet hangs in the hot air. A pair of gerbils climb the slope.
I chiseled at the bulbous handle. The girth wasn't impressive—I could wrap my fingers around its narrowest point—but it clung to the rest of the mountain so steadfastly that I gave up more than once.
These basalt samples from the Amboy Crater were transformed into a musical instrument. The Arduino clock arm strikes the face, and the sound travels all the way to the deep sea.