Light of the canyon shadowed, showing first on valley floor, ascending ever higher as sun ceded to the west. She stared on the eastern wall, watching shadow’s climb, wind returning through the chasm as thermals stirred in change of warmth and light. Her hair blew in the change, catching and fanning over face as she caught, and brushed it back behind. In pools of the stream, she saw the rise and take of trout laying hidden in recesses of stream floor and boulder holds, but with the lessened light, they rose for take of hatching caddisflies from water’s nursery.
The air changed, from heat of almost desert back to mountain cool, and just as wind began—when stabilized—it stilled. The pines spoke in oscillation’s sway for moment past. Then they, too, were stilled, and only the sound of stream, and the soft sip of trout from surface face carried in the wilderness.
Cold chill climbed her spine sending shivers through neck, back, and limbs.
Sky began to pour its soul—salmon, fire, and cooling crimson filling frame of canyon’s sky-view, and she held, still, to its revelations until the fire and flame were gone and heaven became only glints of light and distant dreams weaved, interconnected, into celestial tale.
Under these too, she rested—contemplating and reflecting meaning—luminous in light of living Dream.