Mutterings*

The many fallen white tree trunks rest on the empty river bed, decaying slowly, yet, retaining its former glory. The stones and rocks on this dead riverbed are all white, grey, and reddish toned. They all have the same rounded soft edges formed over years of water flow. The relatively smaller river that is before me is joined by other branches of random streams; the water itself is a turquoise blue tinged grayish color. It is crispy cold. The water gushes down, drowning out everything else around; an endless gush, as millions of tiny water particles merrily trip and fall over thousands of rocks underneath; dancing along the way. I imagine this water must be melting glaciers from Mount Rainier.  Right in front of me, I look up to see the colours of the sun setting behind a giant mountain. I can see why the hiking trail here is called the Wonderland Trail. This water stream is a mere 1/10th of its original size, leaving the river bed rocks and a slightly dampish sand that is a