Smooth Streams, Crashing Waterfalls

I have my script from 3 am this morning on the table beside, but I can’t seem to write it.  I took a walk along the green belt today.  The Falls was absolutely stunning.  I wish I could load some of my photos to the cache and show them off, but I have no way.  I have a dumb phone instead of  a smart phone, and I haven’t made the effort to find appropriate correlative cordage.  But the frothy buzz of water was a sight.  The crash and rumble is comforting.  I look at the benches and think, nice it would be to have hexagonal basalt pillar pieces as legs of their benches.  They have nice ones, but these hex basalt would be even better.

Back in Spring of 013, I went to the pasture at the farm, also along the Snake (as here), but before so many tributaries feed.  I saw on that golden early afternoon a line of birds, geese and cranes and others lined  up in a line that must have extended for a quarter mile.  I wonder to myself, What might they be doing?  Are they waiting to get documents signed to travel further north?  Are they in line for an early supper?  maybe they’re waiting for another line to form opposite and play Red Rover?

The valley here is beautiful, agricultural.  The city is the largest  of Eastern Idaho, recently becoming the largest.  The races I first ran were further north of here, but also the thickest competition was here.  Pretty much out of the entire state.

I’ve had the weather channel on since 2:17 this morning.  Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, Tennessee, Illinois.  Places affected by tornadoes, hail , and storm.  What a way to begin a new month!  It’s hard to see devastation, but it’s wonderful to see those who pick up their lives in the wake of destruction and build back stronger than ever, more resilient, more prepared, and more focused, determined.

I still have my notebook script sitting beside me, staring at me.  All I can do is remember my run/walk along the green the belt.  The geese on either side of the walkway, picking at the grass nestled in the still crispy snow.  Ice sheets float like grease atop a soup down the river.

The Falls generate certain trifectas as water from three different angles crashing into one over boulders and sliding softly away with the gentle stream.

Toeing the line in so many track races, Waterfall Start, Gentleman , the starter would announce.  And I look at the beautiful curve atop the waterfall, as smooth as melted butter before it crashes below.  Sometimes my races were the same way.  Actually, probably the opposite.  The rough was the approach.  The smooth was the actual race.


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