In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

39 T H E R U S H O F T H E B R O O K S T I L L S T H E M I N D The trail flashes with sluices of snowmelt. Silver-green undersides of hemlock lift in the wind. A warbler’s electric call climbs all the way up the mountain slope. That hidden waterfall we promised to see this spring unrolls bolt after bolt of runoff that splashes veils of watery lace over stones. The canopy creaks with pine siskins. Mist rises above snow. The aloneness almost too much for one man. The surge of the brook crashes around boulders; a sinkhole swirls and dips. Ripples cascade in a basin under deadfall to plunge into a froth of torrent. A nuthatch debugs 40 a fallen branch that rocks in the current; and a mayfly is blown above the spray. ...

Share