The water was exceptionally high, flooding out over the banks of the river’s outlet and into the trail and parking area, so I decided to park up above the dam and walk down to a spot below the falls. It wasn’t a big lake. One could look all the way across to the other side, but the water looked majestic spilling down over the edge of the dam. From below, you would think it was much bigger as it rushed down with amazing volume from above. The roar of the water filled my ears as it flowed over the top and down to each successive level. It overflowed the sides of the dam, as well, creating additional, smaller falls in the canyon walls on either side. I found a large rock to park on and sat observing my natural surroundings. Below me, I watched red-winged black birds as they commenced the activities of their mating season; glimpsing flashes of red and yellow as they flitted from here to there, raising interest from the females with loud, distinctive calls. A northern flicker lit on a rock in the cliff to my right for only a few seconds, offering a view of his salmon colored underwings as he once again took flight. The green of the grassy meadow at the top of the hill had been broken by wildflowers; splashes of reds, oranges and yellows, as well as spots of purple and white. The same colors could be found on the hill, in the grass between the rocks and boulders. A turkey vulture glided on the air currents above my head and I could feel the stresses of daily life melt away.
I glanced down to the washed out trail below me. From around the corner that leads further down the trail, a woman appeared. Did I say woman? No, that’s not right. She was more of a goddess with her long black hair flowing down over her shoulders in straight, shiny strands that hung well below her buttocks and gleamed in the sunlight. She walked so gracefully that glide would be a better word. Her motion was comparable to the easy swoops and dives of the turkey vulture above. She was wearing blue jeans and a rose colored tube top that accented the natural dusty rose hue of her cheeks on her dark, olive complexion, and gray ladies‘ hiking boots.
It was puzzling to see her there, strolling up the marshy path that I had avoided in order to keep my feet dry. Maybe I was just a sissy, although I had never considered myself to be one. Maybe, I was just not as adventurous in my old age as I used to be. She stopped at the rivers edge, looking out over the water, unaware of my presence above.
What she did next left me with my mouth gaping open. She grasped the lower edges of her tube top and pulled it up over her head, hanging it on a nearby bush. Still gazing out over the water, only her bare back was visible to me, but that was enough. I did nothing; just sat there on top of my boulder, gazing down at the half naked beauty that stood below me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her. Then she unlaced and removed her boots, one at a time, setting them under the bush that held her top, and eased her jeans down over her perfectly curved hips. She took out, first one leg and then the other and then they were hanging in the bush over the tube top. Still, I didn’t move. It was as if I were glued there. I made no sound; no attempt to alert her to my presence, so she could cover herself. It was as if my voice had suddenly decided to go on vacation without me.
She stood there a few seconds, in all her naked glory before she stepped into the river and walked toward the rushing falls of the dam. I wanted to call out to her, to warn her how high the river was, to tell her she must turn back. I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged. (Apparently my voice was still in Miami or some such place, lounging on the beach. It certainly wasn’t here, in Colorado with my mouth.) She kept going, one delicate, elegant step at a time. She didn’t seem to fret over where to place her feet on the slippery rocks that lay below the water’s surface, as if she had traversed what is normally dry banks of the river that carries the overflow from the lake above before. She walked along the edge, without hesitation and without pausing, straight into the raging falls when she reached the edge of the dam. I could catch glimpses of her through breaks in the water’s cascade as she made her way toward the center of the dam. Once there, I no longer caught sight of her, although I sat there frozen to the rock beneath me, watching in amazement. I did not see her move toward the other edge to emerge on the opposite bank as I had anticipated. She must have stopped in the middle of the dam. I imagined her in my mind, standing there letting the roaring falls immerse her bare skin, its cold chill flooding over her body. The realization that I was sitting there with a hard on brought me back to the here and now. I felt heat rise up in my face, as feelings of guilt stole over me. Sitting there, watching her as she disrobed now felt like spying, although at the time, I hadn’t had any qualms about it.
The sun beat down on my skin and I could feel the heat of sunburn on my bare legs. Had I been sitting there that long? I looked at my watch; three forty-five. Although it seemed that only a few short minutes had passed since the woman appeared on the trail, my timepiece told me that it had actually been more than two hours. How long since I had last seen her through the curtain of water? She had to come out eventually. Only she never did. I sat there on that rocky perch until almost eight o’clock. She never reappeared from beneath the torrents of the waterfall. I finally hiked back up the hill to my Jeep as daylight began to fade from the spring sky.