Thoughts are rushing.
Carving sediments of words that spill out in torrents.
The constant babble of attrition swelling my anxiety.
Turbulent manipulations raising any doubt of self-worth.
Ice crunches stepping closer to the waters edge.
Peering over wet stained boots at the dapple of a reflection staring back.
My face damp from the cool mist.
A calmness washing over.
Thoughts now flowing.

_{Hiking is one of these activities I feel deeply passionate about, especially when my thoughts and inner voice are the loudest. Surely many will attest to the therapeutic qualities that nature provides. While walking the trails in Layton, NJ at the end of the winter season in 2021, the rushing sound of Buttermilk Waterfall deafened the surrounding chirps of any birds. I stood there and admired the waterfall for about 20-30 minutes before seeing any other person. I focused and listened to all the parts of the water crashing over the edge from the top, hitting the next ledge, and the subsequent next. Each step the water took down the rocky staircase seem to get just a little quieter, not so rushed, slowed, and eventually bubbling down the last step before hitting the stream.}

_{I had also realized this waterfall was reflective of my own thoughts. Carelessly hurling words over the edge of my mind, often of ill will and self punishment, brow beating my every attempt to calm and self soothe with affirmations. Perhaps my mind just grows tired or my focus redirects to a more quieter channel. Like the waterfall, each step down became a little easier and more hushed. Finally, I stepped up to the waters edge and like the ice breaking under the pressure of my feet I was reminded to breathe again. I could breathe the mist coming off the falls that also dampened my face.}