Today is the first time I've come to my place when it's been sunny. Last Saturday I came during a massive snowstorm and I didn't even get out of my car; the snowflakes were rushing past the windows in white streaks, the wind was bending tree branches back and forth, the temperature was dropping swiftly. Today, however, the cold seems to settle lightly on my hair and coat and jeans, seeping so slowly to my skin that I hardly notice. The sun is already descending toward the western horizon, but it is still bright, with the snow's glitter adding to the light. I have to squint as I crunch down the path toward Bridal Veil Falls.
I am following many sets of footprints, but I'm alone on this trail. The bare branches of trees cast shadows that are lengthening as I walk among them. The air smells cold. It is crisp and numbing and distinct. I can still hear the cars speeding along the highway, but louder than that is the Provo River to my left, a sound barrier between me and the road. It's only a river by virtue of it's being in the desert--it's only ten to fifteen feet wide on average. Its rushing rustling seems louder than usual, perhaps magnified by the cold. I break a new trail in the snow to overlook the flowing water, and am fascinated by the ice skirts that have formed around the rocks. Even the river isn't immune to winter.
The mountains tower above me, lifting my eyes to the bluest of clear skies. The peaks are rocky and stark against the sky, softened only by the slanting sun and the blankets of snow. They are majestic, secure in themselves and their place. Their horizonal lines of rock speak for centuries of history and change and stability. I notice cascading levels of icicles, the "Stairway to Heaven," on a shaded cliff face. They are bold and huge and intricate at the same time, seemingly cemented to the rocks and each other. I wish I could get closer, touch their frozen sides and edges.
A new sound filters through the river's hissing: it's moving water, but higher-pitched, distant, hushed. Bridal Veil Falls is still crescendoing down the mountain from the natural spring high above. It is two levels (a "double cataract" waterfall), and while both are still flowing, the second level (the "bridal veil") seems diminished by half. As I round the last corner and face the falls directly, I can see how much has frozen to impede the normal roar of the tumbling water.
The falls trickle down into a pool that has a layer of ice over it, broken only by a few rocks and the force of water still flowing. Just above the pool, where the water slopes more gradually, snow and ice cover the rocks but the movement of the falls can be glimpsed through small patches. A subversive continuation of motion, in spite of winter's grasp. I step back and survey the whole picture, waterfalls and icicles, flowing water and frozen pond. It is beautiful, nature at its most stunning, frozen but still flowing. Fighting against the season to remain true to its nature.
Those are such amazing pictures (though you realize you're filling me intense Utah-envy, right?). I appreciate how you've also subtly woven in factual information along with the lyrical voice.
ReplyDelete