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The Waterfall
The leaves on the wild berry bushes were broad, green and backlit by the sun peeking over the treetops along the ridge.Water poured over the fall swift and flat against the smooth rock.
The edges were frenzied by the thick moss sipping away at the icy stream. The water spread and fell into the air.
At the base, a moss-covered log leaned against the rocks piling up the side of the canyon into the earth. Back and across was the boulder that formed the lip of the fall. The arrangment seemed to cradle the catch basin below.
Spray splashed, glittered and sparkled in the brightening sunlight. Wild drops then fell into the random craziness of the moment rejoining the rest of the stream. Near the bank of the small bubbling pool, through the lapping water, rounded stones could been seen lying unmoving at the bottom. Until then there appeared to be no order to the activity.
The small creek sloped off, briskly flowing through a rock-strewn matrix at the trail crossing, off, and down into the pined canyon.
The trail became steeper and wound around to a small level spot halfway up the falls. A boulder provided a scurry of interesting finger and toe-holds in its side up to the top.
High up the canyon narrowed and water flowing into the small pool seemed to emerge from beneath the berry bushes. A flat rock at the head of the fall caught the reflecting light dancing web-like silently across its face.
Further up the canyon the mountain provided a broad and steep backdrop. The sky was the deepest and purest blue, the pines the darkest green. Looking down the canyon toward the valley the silver stream traced its way along the lowest points through the pine and scrub oak.
A chipmunk dashed madly about on the rocks.
-- by O. Kaye --
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