The ground beneath my feet rumbles. Softly at first
and then with each step increasing in its timbre
The air is damp and mossy with a gray light
filtering through the canopy of spruce and pine.

Wet thunder rises and my ears are muted
by the intensity of a river plummeting over
slick rock lips; a roiling, massive death
spiral. Half the volume swan dives elegantly
hundreds of feet into a pounding foaming white pool, while my
own heart matches the outpouring, beat for beat.
The other hangs mistily in the frigid air, gently
nourishing the brown-green algae with its spit.

I cannot help but marvel at the sheer anger of it all
wondering how many open-mouthed bass,
thrust forth into open space, gargolyed eyed as
the river disappears beneath them, recognize this,
the end of their swim? Death, anger, power…and yet
so serenely beautiful. Rage onward, Snoqualmie, before
the winter’s freeze deprives you of your liquid dance.

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