Observations at Twin Falls
UmberDove
One of the strangest things to me about photographs is how small they seem. Standing on that bridge, a sharp wind blowing bits of spray onto my cheeks, the evergreens crowding my nostrils, the mating calls of song birds persistently ringing above the thundering of the waterfall, I felt so tiny. The trees canopied over my head, and I could see so far from my little wooden perch, the entire river laid out like an eternity below me.
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I faced off with a humming bird, but as we were of equal size, we were an equal match. For ten long minutes we sized each other up, I bound to the ground, standing in the midst of the most beautiful swarm of golden gnats, the humming bird high in a tree, sitting frozen one second, buzzing threateningly the next, red breast flickering flames in the sunlight.
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I saw my first trillium of the season, no small event for my year. I keep noticing trilliums in my dreams. As I'm hiking through brittle snow, I look down and dozens of bright white petals are springing up around my feet, I look closer and see that the snow is just a thin layer of ice and I am actually walking above the treetops of some underground world. I realize if I stomp and crack that ice, the trilliums and I will fall through in one brilliant tumble of blooms like a bird shot in flight.
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I sat quietly before three totem trees. Gnarled and twisting, eyes raised like the saints, each seemed to hold a thousand faces. Ferns sprouted twenty feet up in every which direction, the unruly hair of the elderly. I tried to listen, but my young ears could not be silent long enough to hear their song, so instead I bowed and promised to return with a more patient spirit.
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