Destruction and Joy

Finished early this morning: The Diversity of Life, by Edward O. Wilson.

The leaves are changing in the canyon. Yesterday morning, all through our three-and-a-half-mile walk from North Falls to Winter Falls, to Twin Falls, and then back to North Falls and on to Upper North Falls, the canopy was dripping from the previous night’s rain. In fact, it was raining, but the rain itself was being absorbed well above us by the firs, which are still slaking their summer thirst. Side-stepping puddles on the Rim Trail, we could see where other puddles had formed and since soaked in. (Is not soaken a proper word?) The falls, while dramatically increased in volume, are still nowhere near what might be expected two or three months from now. Near the end of our walk, the rain had stopped and a beautiful mist had formed in the canyon, warmed by sunlight breaking through the treetops and clouds, causing steam to rise from the mossy amber-lit trunks of the maples, alders, and firs along the stream. Up, then, the seventy-eight steep steps hugging the moss-and-fir-lined canyon-wall back to our starting point, where we met a young father and his little daughter just starting out, all smiles, the girl poised to jump in a puddle.

October 7, 2021

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