I’ve been composing this throughout the day, in between processing Monthly Notices of the RAS, and having story conferences with soulsong, and I just need to get this section of text home to work on there…
Ben swings his cousin’s truck round into the car park, gravel crunching under tyres. Fine, penetrating rain blends with the spray from the canyon beneath. He steps down out of the vehicle and makes his way across the car park and down the well-made, fenced track to where the river plunges over the falls in a churning rolling mass of foam and water. His pace is fast, weaving in and out of the Italian tourists and the coach load of tourists with their day-sacks and cameras. His feet slide and squelch in the dark volcanic mud. Plateauing off onto the observation point next to the waterfall, his movements instinctively become more wary – the canyon beneath providing some thirty metres of chasm into which you could easily disappear into were you to take the wet, slippery rocks at just the wrong speed.
Slowly, Ben approaches the point of rock that projects out over the the edge of the waterfall. He leans his head over, looking down pas the churning froth and foam of water at the canyon beneath. The mist penetrates his clothing, reaching his skin. The sound is deafening and thunders through his mind.
I’ll probably edit this whole entry later, but in the meantime…
