I went to a park for the first time in the eight years I have lived here. I followed the trail marked "waterfall." Sitting on the bench I confess at first a tinge of disappointment. 'Waterfall' to me conjured a different image than this. Letting go of my preconceived image I sat in the silence of its sound and movement.
The silence was broken when a mother and her two young daughters came running down the path. The smallest one squealed back to the others "There's water now!" I watched the three scurry down the path, the kids playing tag with the water and the mother quickly taking pictures. The waterfall seemed to grow larger as the girls darted in and out and the mother laughed and snapped picture after picture.
She climbed up the path, joined me on the bench and we watched the girls play. I heard a heavy sigh and then she spoke, "It's good to see water again. The rains were hard but the waterfall is back." A voice in the distance called them away.
With only one kiss of the seat of my pants to the earth, I made it down to the waterfall. The splashing of the water was no longer simply background noise. My hand reached out to touch the water. My voice whispered 'welcome back.' Looking up to the gentle flow spilling over, I pondered that even waterfalls, like hope, life, dreams, love and laughter, must be fed. Bowing, I left the breadcrumbs of my heart alongside the children's laughter, like cookies and milk for Santa, a small thank you for the gifts and nourishment to grow.