Not a word. Not a warning. Just the sound of a woman’s laughter, drifting down three hundred feet of basalt, like a held breath finally let go.
Today, hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail sometimes detour to Seraphim Falls. They take pictures. They skip stones. They dip their hands in the pool and remark on how cold it is, even in August. Seraphim Falls
The water did not answer. It never had. That was the joke. He’d spent a decade listening for a voice that was only his own echo bouncing off the basalt. Not a word