Waterfall

In the soft and warm glow of summer's failing sun I came to that place of water and rocks. The falling water's simple power and quiet rush of air and spray comfort me. I sat and watched looking thinking of the power gracefully falling over the edge. What would it be like to ride over or to try and paddle against it?

I sit at the edge and wait, to watch the sun's ray's fall behind the trees, away from my eyes. Colors dance in the fall's mists. First bright oranges and reds, but then the deeper colors are seen. Existing if only briefly before the light fades.

This place is one of comfort, the cool air from the mists of water as the falls slowly make the march up river, taking the dirt with the water down stream, and pounding the rocks into dirt. Creating new earth at the bottom of the river, or away off in the sea.

Here I sit in the failing light, with only the falls to comfort me. Here my mind can rest, if for a little while. The light fails and night claims the world; all is quiet, but for the falls steady voice.