Falls River

Jeanne Lohmann

Some places intend quiet, others one word, like wild called out by a musing grandmother as we stood on the bridge over the Deschutes, water below us boiling and spilling so hard and fast spray flew from the rocks, stopped our mouths. If it's true we ought to go out of our heads at least once a day this was it for me, as it was a second time when I looked into the clear pools holding water and stones, and then again beside the path into the pure silence of the white morning glories.