Once upon a time, the young Ernst Jünger joined a group hike along the rocky shores of the Eder River in Hesse. Caught in a downpour, his party sought shelter in a nearby village. This place, they soon learned, was about to disappear from the map entirely, destined to be flooded with the building of a dam. 'We saw the peaceful picture, and embedded within, the approaching end', he recalls, writing in 1965. 'We saw a Vineta before its ultimate destruction.' 1 Nevertheless, he is quick to add, none among them could have known that the impending doom of the town was but an early sign of greater devastation still to come. We may learn through other sources -Jünger does not tell us -that the Eder dam was completed in 1914 after several years' construction, on the eve of the cataclysmic war that defined his life and ravaged his generation. Yet in this tale, the time of his excursion through a long-vanished world cannot be fixed by dates or chronology, and instead remains shrouded in the fog of myth, its narrative propelled by the inevitability of primal forces. 'Along with the great fire', he writes, 'the great flood belongs to the consummate powers of change and the end of days.' 2 At the inn where the wanderers sat out the storm, their talk shifted to more general questions. More than fifty years later, one in particular continues to preoccupy the writer: 'Do big stones come from small ones, or do the small stones come from the big ones?' 3 As Jünger returns to this conundrum of geological genesis and metamorphosis, he moves seamlessly among many stone landscapes, both real and imagined. In the fractals of the Nagelfluh conglomerate in the Alps, he observes, on an immense scale, a structure that recurs at a microscopic level. Everywhere he sees potential for the reversibility of part and whole, interior and exterior, phenomenon and observation, and, ultimately, cause and effect. Jünger contemplates rival theories of the origin of the earth advanced by eighteenth-century geological scientists, and rehearses the ensuing obsession with the mine in the Romantic literary imagination. These reflections repeatedly lead him to Goethe's interests in minerology and morphology, the ultimate significance of which he finds encapsulated in the poet's couplet: 'Natur hat weder Kern noch Schale, / Alles ist sie mit einem Male' (Nature has neither pip nor husk, / She is one and all, all at once). 4 Jünger wrote his essay on stones for the last photobook by Albert Renger-Patzsch, Gestein (Rock), published just six months before the photographer's death, in 1966. 5 Gestein was their second collaboration, after Bäume (Trees, 1962). Jünger suggested a third book dedicated to snakes, but Renger saw no means of developing this 'mythical theme' . 6 These large-scale, sumptuous volumes were designed and printed in Italy by Giovanni (Hans)