What happens when humans have the chance to hear anything they say reflected back as singsong in a canyon full of flowing sandstone?

What follows is a three hour study conducted at the Echo Amphitheater in Abiquiu New Mexico.

First is a greeting: Hello. Hey. Hi. Hola. This is the most common utterance and happens within a minute of coming under the overhang where the real sound begins. Then there's a pause as the last syllable falls away. Communication is established, so now what?

Their names. Identifying themselves and hearing it back through the pores of sandstone as if it makes them more real. Yes, I am here. See, it's true that I existed. This ancient rock has borne witness.

At this point most stop speaking to the canyon. They move away from the declarative to chat with their companions and giggle a little at their murmurings being amplified to such a degree.

A select few continue on to make gutteral, nonsensical syllables. Not singing, per se leaving that to the tilted rock that calls back with a symphony of delay. These were the most interesting in many ways, to hear the human voice on its edges, in a way that it is hardly used in the confines of “civilized” life. Not the tones heard often in the grocery store.

These are all the things we choose to say when no one is listening but the earth. In this particular place we are talking to the same grains of sand that existed under the ocean millennia ago. Speaking to the ancients in their petrified form.

And to ourselves. What comes out of our throats comes back at us. Would what people say be different if they were here alone? If they knew no one (alive) could hear? Would they recite Robert Frost? Sing a few lines of their favorite song?

But what we do is greet and identify. The same thing we are accustomed to doing every day when meeting someone new. It's automatic and in most circumstances, essentially meaningless - think how many times hello is said every day.

But here, the habit we fall back on takes a new angle. It's both comforting and suddenly more meaningful. It's the only thing we can think to do but also a form of first contact with the earth in an unfamiliar configuration.

Thousands of "hello"s and "I am"s have been uttered here. They have evaporated into the air just like the people that said them. Dead voices still ringing. Thousands of greetings and thousands of names and thousands of smiles at the responses.

I throw out an "I love you" as we left. A little missive to the earth. Maybe it will reflect back at the next person who comes along and needs to hear it.

This story based on events at Echo Amphitheater in Abiquiu, New Mexico.