There is a curved tree here that serves as a nice reclined lounge chair, angling your horizon up the red gritty sandstone + mint-green-lichen face. Light rises, dunes, rivulets, races, channels, shears, overhangs, outcroppings, layer faults/fractures… few rebellious saplings.

From that new horizon convey stratified clouds across a subtly gradated blue backdrop.

Ice falls sporadically. Some are of icefalls poured over the claws of rock, others from patches weary of holding the grade.

You hear them first.

Sometimes crisp sounds through crisp air- sequential impacts of delicate marbles glancing off rock.

Others, starting as a light rustling, like shoes on gravel. As some pieces break into fragments break into pebbles break into particles, spreading across the face as they do so- they form the gentle, dispersed, enveloping sympho-cacophany of a waterfall transmuted.

They fall, and break, and bounce, and bound- racing each other down- some adhering to the channels laid by similar flows previous- others escaping such- all to ultimately yielding the same silent fate, piled at the foot.

Occasional silence… but they do keep coming… every couple of minutes… with an uncompromising consistency.

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