Finding the Source

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rily quiet, the only sound coming from his hiking boots and his breath and the barely audible trickle of water. He luxuriated in the silence and walked softly so as to minimize any sound.</p><p id="5d39">For a moment Mason let his mind play. What if he came upon a bear or a mountain lion? There would be no escape. What would he do? And what if there was a flash flood up ahead and a torrent of water came gushing down the canyon washing him away? He briefly thought about that big round boulder in that Indiana Jones movie.</p><p id="e76e">He shook his head, releasing those silly thoughts, and he continued onward and upward.</p><p id="edfb">After a while he heard the high-pitched caw of a bird echo through the canyon. He could not identify the bird sound and as he looked up he could not see the bird anywhere. He stopped walking and turned in a circle with his neck craned upward looking for the bird but he could not see it.</p><p id="edf1">Mason continued hiking and every few minutes the bird would let out another series of caws. Every time this happened he would stop and look upward but he never saw the bird. The echoing effect of the canyon intensified the shrillness of the bird call and he could feel it echo within his own body.</p><p id="9854">He kept hiking for a long time. The walls of the canyon were growing shorter. The bird kep

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t cawing every ten minutes or so but he still could not see the bird. Was the bird following him? Or was he following the bird?</p><p id="1150">Eventually Mason took a break and crouched down by the small creek flowing through the canyon. With cupped hands he drank water then splashed water over his face. Just then the bird cawed again but he did not bother looking up in hopes of spotting it. Now it seemed like the bird was within him.</p><p id="423c">Taking another drink of water, Mason then stood up and continued walking towards the source of that water.</p><p id="811d"><i>Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.</i> <a href="https://readmedium.com/white-feather-archive-index-c95167f7dbaf"><b>Stories by White Feather</b></a></p><p id="87df"><i>Don’t miss…</i></p><div id="f293" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/a-painters-forest-78df14044283"> <div> <div> <h2>A Painter’s Forest</h2> <div><h3>And how the painter’s life changed</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*2CLlGrqhT16BMOmIShLFXw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

A journey through rock, water and sound

The canyon was deep and narrow and rugged. It beckoned Mason up its path towards the mountains. Every twisting turn revealed new masterpieces of rock art. Water, the great sculptor, only trickled through the canyon now but the rock walls spoke of past torrents.

Mason hiked upward. There were only two ways out of the canyon; going back from where he came or continuing upward to the source.

The vegetation was sparse and clung to the bottoms of the canyon walls. The high canyon walls blocked sunshine except for at midday so the canyon was cooler than the surrounding desert.

Mason hiked slowly taking in the beauty of the rock walls. He was in no hurry. Occasionally, he would stop and step up to one side of the canyon and place both of his hands on the rock. He felt the energy and immensity of the rock. Closing his eyes, he let that energy flow into him and fill him.

Although the canyon was an acoustic echo chamber it was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from his hiking boots and his breath and the barely audible trickle of water. He luxuriated in the silence and walked softly so as to minimize any sound.

For a moment Mason let his mind play. What if he came upon a bear or a mountain lion? There would be no escape. What would he do? And what if there was a flash flood up ahead and a torrent of water came gushing down the canyon washing him away? He briefly thought about that big round boulder in that Indiana Jones movie.

He shook his head, releasing those silly thoughts, and he continued onward and upward.

After a while he heard the high-pitched caw of a bird echo through the canyon. He could not identify the bird sound and as he looked up he could not see the bird anywhere. He stopped walking and turned in a circle with his neck craned upward looking for the bird but he could not see it.

Mason continued hiking and every few minutes the bird would let out another series of caws. Every time this happened he would stop and look upward but he never saw the bird. The echoing effect of the canyon intensified the shrillness of the bird call and he could feel it echo within his own body.

He kept hiking for a long time. The walls of the canyon were growing shorter. The bird kept cawing every ten minutes or so but he still could not see the bird. Was the bird following him? Or was he following the bird?

Eventually Mason took a break and crouched down by the small creek flowing through the canyon. With cupped hands he drank water then splashed water over his face. Just then the bird cawed again but he did not bother looking up in hopes of spotting it. Now it seemed like the bird was within him.

Taking another drink of water, Mason then stood up and continued walking towards the source of that water.

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