THE dust of many miles was upon me. I felt uncouth in the presence
of the sun-dried stones. Here was a natural bathing-place. Who could
resist it?
I climbed further down the cañon, holding to the bushes. The cliff
along which the water rushed to the fall’s foot was smooth and seemed
artificially made, though it had been so hewn by the fury of the
cataclysm in ages past.
I took off my clothes and put my shoulders against the granite, being
obliged to lean back a little to conform to its angle. I was standing
with my left shoulder almost touching the perilous main column of
water. A little fall that hurried along by itself a bit nearer
the bank flowed over me. It came with headway. Though it looked so
innocent, I could scarcely hold up against its power.
But it gave me delight to maintain myself. The touch of the stone was
balm to my walk-worn body and dust-fevered feet. Like a sacerdotal robe
the water flowed over my shoulders and I thought myself priest of the
solitude.
I stepped out into the air. With unwonted energy I was able to throw
off the coldness of my wet frame. The water there at the fall’s foot
was like a thousand elves singing. “Joy to all creatures!” cried the
birds. “Joy to all creatures! Glory, glory, glory to the wild falls!”