There’s still some snow at the North Falls trailhead, and on the path that leads to Upper North Falls, but it’s easy enough to walk on. On the Rim Trail, though, and in the canyon, the path is bare, save for scattered fir debris. The falls themselves are roaring and bright, each creating wind and turbulence according to its personality and size. Again, my bare feet drew notice and a comment or two, and again I washed them in the clear-sparkling stream.
The sky, boundless and immense, is yet somehow unbearably light. The world, and all that is in it, has all the work it can do to keep it from drifting away.
January 13, 2022
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Bare Feet, Barefoot Journal, Diaries, Firs, Hiking, Journals, Light, Silver Falls, Snow, Walking, Water, Waterfalls
William Michaelian 