This week I visited Fall Run Park for the first time in many months. The pedestrian bridges have been rebuilt and are sure on their moorings. The walking path is well kempt, smoothed over with fresh clean sand, and plucked clean of its poison ivy.
I'd like to imagine that the waterfall has been as lonely for me as I have been for her. She calls out to me with her song of water crashing against the rock. Her smaller sisters greet me first, offering a full-throated welcome. There has been much rain this year and as such they don their finest dresses;
garments thick and full, sweeping with colors of brown, green, and blue with flecks and feathers of red and gold at the hems.
Fall Run has officially reopened this summer although for those of us who loved her best, it was never really closed. We braved the slicks of black mud and the mangled bridges that reminded me of distorted carnival fun houses, my view askew, brain tipsy as my feet struggled to find their way. Today my feet are steady and sure. I can't wait for us to be reacquainted.
