Santiam River

We drove up out of the valley, through the mountains, listening to Coldplay.

The Santiam River. It was breathtaking. I wondered if my whole life had been a dream and I just woken up. Rivendell. Stretching above my head, the pines leaned in towards the sun. The water was clear and freezing, swiftly flowing below the moss covered boulders and enormous slabs of stone that had been sprinkled in the river by a giant's hand. The sun was bright and warm, but not warm enough to heat the glacial water that shivered my bones and shocked my lungs as I jumped in. How alive were the ferns that curled beneath my dripping feet and the moss that covered the stepping stones to heaven. How young we were when we climbed the rock walls and let the rapids carry us under. How old when we crept inside the cave and listened to the waterfalls SING sing sing about the many ages it had seen. How timeless, that river, it knows no sorrow. Only rocks and swift thoughts of every changing landscape and ever-passing time. Every moment was a lifetime, I felt the Earth's heartbeat all around me. Life pulsed inside me. We jumped from the cliffs; we flew. Poised on the edge, muscles waiting. Throw yourself forward. Falling. Flying. Waiting. Air rushes around you.
Splash.
Underwater, coldwater, heavywater, kicking to the surface.
The danger thrilled us and we laughed until we fell down on the forest floor and the sun danced in the corners of our eyes. 

Somedays...you taste heaven.

Photo by my cousin- Jamey Pyles (https://www.facebook.com/jameypylesphotography)