I know it was a love-it-or-hate-it sort of affair, but when The Tree of Life came out several years ago, I saw it in theaters and, well, loved it. The way it visually tried to work out our own little place in the universe, how our tiny lives can matter in the face of the whole of creation, was very much on the same page with my own way of thinking. But it presented the idea the idea that the Way of Nature is distinct and opposite from the Way of Grace. Whereas the Way of Nature is, as Hobbes put it, brutish, nasty, and short, the way of grace is gentle, loving, and infinite. But I don't know, when I see the interdependence, interconnection, efficiency, and downright beauty of this world on which we live, I feel inclined to disagree. The honey bee pollinates the flower, the flower turns into a fruit that feeds other animals, and at death they donate their remains back to the soil creatures that keep the flower alive. We're a trillion trillion organisms all responsible for keeping each other alive, and, with that thought, it's hard not to think that nature provides about as much Grace as a body could ask for.
An American Basket Flower (Centaurea americana) is a Texas-native plant that's a favorite among pollenators, a fact which can be seen clearly in other images of this flower.
Enchanted Rock State Natural Area, Texas // An old central Texas wonder, Enchanted Rock is a plutonic Batholith that formed underground about a billion years ago, and uplifted during the Ouachita Orogeny, when South America rammed into ancient Laurentia about 300 million years ago. (The Geologic expression of it today is actually just the same as the domes of Yosemite--it's an exfoliation dome cracking into sheets because of the release of pressure.)
But none of that quite explains why it's "Enchanted." The pink granite dome has a history of human visitation going back 11,000 years, and in that time it has been the subject of countless myths, both American Indian and Colonial. Perhaps we give these places special, mystical-mythical-magical names when, by the lucky inevitability of infinite possibility, they come so close to our internal predispositions of beauty that it seems such a place must have been made that way on purpose. Of course, no one could design something so perfect. If that's the case, may all rocks be thought enchanted!