We were graduate students. We were broke. We bussed it all the way from Manoa to Sacred Falls. I don’t remember anything about the ride. We hiked the trail: mountain apple, torch ginger, steep canyon walls. And the falls, and the stinging cold water that made us gasp and hold each other for warmth.
Later, we rested in cool shadow at the edge of the pool. You sank a stone into my reflection, testing the depths. I sat still while my image wavered, until the ripples calmed themselves for you and the surface was as smooth and still as hope.
I love your imagery, your style. You are, and will always be, one of my writing heroes.