Aug. 19th, 2005

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We got back from our east coast journey a couple of days ago, and have mostly been dealing with household stuff since then. We now have a garage roof that will last the winter.

We didn't do as much road-tripping side stuff as I'd hoped, but we did do the one thing I had insisted on. An hour north out of our way, I finally got to see Niagara Falls.

For a dollar, you can take an elevator down to the edge of the river, and then climb the staircase that goes up right next to the falls, close enough that you're drenched with spray about halfway up. Between the staircase and the falls themselves, the rocks are covered in moss and lichen--lush and green, but short enough to survive the constant wash blowing across them. Just beyond and above, water crashes over the cliff in wonderful, glorious, terrifying abundance, hitting with such force that the spray rises almost the height of the falls and rolls out over the river.

There are also butterflies. Tiny white butterflies flit out from the stairs, across the moss, lighting on the rocks. They fly further out, within a handsbreadth of the falling water, before returning to relatively safe ground. As the wind changes, the spray falls across the rocks in different patterns, with ever-changing force--but it never stops. The butterflies seem to live there, unimpressed.

I'm sure the butterflies could be symbolic of something, or illustrate some sort of new age moral. Really, though, I think they're good enough art by themselves. Baruch ata--you do good work.


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