Seraphim Falls -

They built a saloon from salvaged wagon wheels. A brothel in a canvas tent with a wooden floor. A gallows before they built a church. The falls watched, indifferent. The water kept falling, kept hesitating, kept soaking the rocks black as old blood.

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

And sometimes—if they’re quiet. If they’re very, very still. They built a saloon from salvaged wagon wheels

Let the river take what the river wants. The falls watched, indifferent

He took off his boots. He lined them up neatly, toes pointing toward the trail he’d never walk again. Then he walked into the pool at the base of the falls. The water was cold—not the cold of winter, but the deeper cold of something that had been waiting a very long time.

And the falls still fell.