Aug 172011
 

Down a steepening path of dust broad as a Viking’s oath we trod toward the “secret waterfall” in Auburn that my friend little Michele had been guided to by a previous explorer who would sling his canvas hammock in the cool mist above a dewy pool, and there meditate until darkness overwhelmed the scene. Several times as we wandered our way to Codfish Falls, Michele was moved to cry out “I love you, river!” to the marvelously green-going glassy water, a deep turquoise vein of living rock brushed by a wet cloth, the cleansing hand as imbued with caring as any docent’s. Our path was crested on the left by a grassy cliff descending to a rivulet that seemed no more than a blue-green thread of film thrown down among shadows. To our right almost the whole way of a good hour’s tromp lifted nearly vertical hillsides absolutely on fire with proud California poppies.

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