waterfalls

The first sound that creeps into my ears in the early morning is the muffled thunder of the falls.

Even under the ice and snow, the waters of the Grasse River spout over the spillway and the dam. The river matches the sky, which today is slate gray.

The color of the water is every shade of fairy-white. Ballerinas long for tulle skirts as dazzlingly white as these churning cascades.

The frothy, lacy, icy hues spin through the dizzying tornado of cataracts and emerge downstream, unwinding lazily as if barely subdued.

I doubt that I ever will tire of this beautiful water.