A dry spell. I've not felt the camera's heft or seen through its eye in more than a week. I sit down to write and out come lecture notes, dry as yesterday's toast. I live on the surface while life is lived in some deeper place than the necessity of getting by. I do what I have to do and have forgotten, for now, what I want to see or say. A drought. But not forever. Rains will come.
She didn't name these falls. I did. I'll tell the story soon to others, then to you.