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Finding the waterfall was Steve’s idea.  He remembered it from an earlier hike that we had done in the Fells in autumn.  When temperatures recently plummeted into the teens (and that’s before adding in the wind chill factor), he said, “Let’s try to find it again.  Imagine the ice!”

Usually, I am quite game for such adventures, but this time, after a long drive and a long hike to get to the place we kinda-sorta-thought the waterfall was (but it wasn’t), I found myself  silently cursing as we struggled up a cliff, slid on ice hidden beneath snow, and snagged ourselves in thorny thickets.

The light was fading fast, and coming in at odd angles over the hills and through the trees.  I was cold and not happy for lots of reasons.  But, then I paused to take a sip of water.  A glimmering on the land caught my eyes.   Upon closer scrutiny, I realized that what I had first assumed was simply more ice on rocks was in fact a stream.   Beneath a thick, clear glassy seal, its waters ran swift.   We followed those waters to where they eventually cascaded over rocks as a waterfall.

For a while the cold was forgotten as we  took photos.  But when I could ignore the cold no longer, and had to jam my hands in my pockets, I just stood in the woods, and listened to the waters running.  It was a beautiful sound.

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I went walking through a puddle

It was like walking on the sky

Walking through the waters

Was like walking through sky

Deep blue cheery waters

Ripples flowing near and far

Walking through those waters

Was like walking through the sky

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http://photosbycynthia.smugmug.com/Nature/Snow

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It shouldn’t take the flu to slow one down, but sometimes it seems that way.  I do not think that I am particularly energetic but of late I have felt a need to slow down, or to encourage people around me to slow down.  So, how strange it was to rediscover amidst my journals a folded up piece of paper.  The program for my mother’s funeral service.  Inside was a poem that my brother had asked to be included, a poem that he had seen our mother reading, and which she kept folded in her bible.  I had not read it since her passing so many years ago.  When I stopped long enough this past week to look at it, I understood why she’d kept it.  I share it here on this slow, slow Monday.

Slow me down, Lord!

Ease the pounding of my heart

By the quieting of my mind.

Steady my harried pace

With a vision of the eternal reach of time.

Give me,

Amidst the confusions of my day,

The calmness of the everlasting hills.

Break the tensions of my nerves

With the soothing music of the sighing streams

That live in my memory.

Help me to know

The magical restoring power of sleep.

Teach me the art

Of taking minute vacations of slowing down to look at a flower;

To chat with an old friend or to make a new one;

To pat a stray dog;

To watch a spider build a web;

To smile at a child;

Or to read a few lines from a good book.

Remind me each day

That the race is not always to the swift;

That there is more to life than increasing its speed.

Le me look upward

Into the branches of the towering oak

And know that it grew slowly and well.

Slow me down, Lord,

And inspire me to send my roots deep

Into the soil of life’s enduring values

That I may grow toward the stars

Of my greater destiny.

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