Snowfields begin again their summer-long melt. The alpine stream, vocal
again, collects its water from a thousand places. Miniature gorges drain
the meadow, gurgling with the sparkle and rush of meltwater in the
lengthening spring days.
Gathering volume, the stream seems to hurry faster; at the first rock
staircase, it begins to sing. I follow the gully downward, drawn like
the water. There is excitement in the growing dash and roar, a wind-gust
sweeping spray into the air. A rainbow appears, holding steady to the
swirling cloud of spray, then doubles and abruptly disappears.
At the first great plunge the water lunges outward over the lip. Like
glass at shattering, long shards lance out. But the wind feathers the
sharp edges as they fall.
The close thunder of a waterfall beats at your head, and your mind must
shout to think. Here is water, a most amazing and most important
substance. Perhaps some of this same water was once part of the ancient
sea in which was laid down the mudstone of this ledge; was once drunk by
dinosaurs; has coursed the globe countless times; and has flowed in this
very stream before. In solid, liquid, or gaseous form, it goes through
its own cycle. Together with sunlight, water makes possible and
maintains all life on Earth.