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There was the river, and there were the falls, where the water cascaded over the edge and dropped, churning, into the void. And then, Nothing. An immense amount of space filled the basin which laid before them.
To the left, the upper canyon wall sat like a shelf, as if someone had come and carved a chunk out of the middle. Below that, it slowly sloped inwards again, forming a hill that ended at the base of the rift. Black rocks in irregular shapes and sizes were heaped around this hill, like so many oreo cookies crumbled over a cake, with the smaller pieces resting near the top while the bigger pieces had tumbled farther down before coming to a stop. These bigger and more angular rocks sat right at the start of the new river, serving as a buttress to the frothing water at the base of the falls. They were glossy in the mist that continuously cascaded over top of them and rose back up the hill, where the earth was covered in bright green moss. Farther downriver, the slope flattened out into grey, pebbly terrain, where stood a gloomy copse of dead trees. The river ran beneath these, muddy and greenish, and wound its way through several small rapids before splitting around a large boulder and emerging from the towering shadow of the falls above. It lit up, golden and bright, rejoining into one stream back under the sunlight, and worked its way out of sight as the canyon continued west.
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Today the hills are grey and wreathed with blue haze. Below them, the lake shimmers.
... No, really, the lake is shimmering. It glitters. It sparkles. Like countless gems heaped up in a pile at the foot of the hill. I stare at it for minutes on end, even though it kinda hurts.
A corner of the sky glows white below the blinding sun. The glow reaches to the south, sending out feathered sheets of clouds into the unimaginably clear blue. I let the silence fill me. The lack of traffic noise, and people, and the things in my house which ask for attention. The lingering ghosts of past busyness.
I feel as if I can hear the sky moving. My ears are now open to the irregular patterns of leaves rustling in the wind, the ripples lapping against the shoreline, the occasional sploosh of a duck diving to pick at something underwater. Thrushes are pecking through the undergrowth. Turtles are sunbathing on a log. A blue heron is gracefully wading through the shallows, step by quiet step.
If I stop to look at the sky, or to watch some cool-looking bugs wiggle their antennae, or to listen to a waterfall, or even just to breathe, for a moment I can reach my inner child. It used to be so innate, so inherent to the act of being, to look on the world with wonder and amazement. These days I'm too busy. Too distracted.
This is a reminder that I'm still human. Despite how I have made myself for the sake of being an adult into a Thing that Functions, the endless day in, day out does relent - once in a while.
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Backlit city skyline
A golden ball hanging between shadowed prisms.
How I long for the days when I did not feel the weight of my phone in my pocket,
Or the pressure of the all too quickly approaching future.
Everything feels like a distraction.
All I want to do is stand here,
And stare at the sky.
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