The gorge is dim and cool. Where moss does not cover the walls, wet rocks glisten. The roar of the waterfalls grows louder until our route suddenly flanges out- cliffs above, a cliff below and a 2 mile view of sun spilt hills beyond them. I bravely peer down to the bottom of the rocky bowl at a peculiarly still pool. White water yells from peace to peace. Floating leaves are just yellow specs from here. I watch one fall red and ready from a dare devil tree on the rim above me, tumbling down down. down down. Few leaves fall so far. Few leaves are so intently watched. Most watched leaves fall shorter distances.
Looking up from my stone stairway I see branches flaring over the craggy ledge like yellow skirts on a balcony. Looking down I see treetops, a bird’s perspective. Where else can you be below and above the forest at the same time. I descend into it down down. down down. I pause even with high white branches not wanting to leave this place, this moment. Listen to the wind through dry leaves. Hear bird songs. Rest here speechless, breathing. Then follow the slope to join the cold river again. Both of us, the river and I, are still and still dazed.
A 5 mile hike with kids on our backs at Robert Treman State Park.
