Whitehorse Falls is a lucky break on the highway. They probably meant Whitehouse Falls back then because it appears to be a fancy building complete with ionic columns that are always on the move.
The falls take a passionate loop around rocky knobs, ignore fallen trees both natural and sawed down a' la the Forest Service. I've meditated here how long? It did not matter one bit, after all, the steering was easy, piece of cake divided by two. I spaced a little then remembered what it was all about.
It would be nice to have a representation of it later when swept-up in reality. Later, my thoughts and feelings would be absorbed in an elongated fashion. Some trees were purple. Some white. Their roots clung to boulders. The ash drifts looked pink sometimes, sometimes yellow.
The falls tore down my defenses, I could love again.
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