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Winter breathed her last gasp over the weekend and blew out of the Uncompaghre Plateau leaving 10 inches of snow behind her.  Most of this snow melted within 48 hours, transformed into a torrent of water under sunny skies and 50 degree days. 


I can see grass appearing now between the older more settled drifts of snow.  Pink sand carried here from Moab during an early windy December storm covers the last snowdrifts, the wet bunch grasses, the juniper and hawthorne bushes  - and what is left of last fall's aspen leaves.


On the land just to our east, at the end of each day, comes the thundering noise of a waterfall.   It sounds as if all of the land to our east has become a waterfall, making a roaring sound that is easily as loud as that of the Taquamenon falls in Northern Michigan.  We can't see anything of this waterfall from our porch and yard, but we can hear it roar.  It beckons us to hop over the fence onto our neighbors land to find it.  After traversing numerous little streams, pink Moab sanded snowdrifts, downed aspen, and more little streams, we arrive beside spectacular, and unfortunately temporary, waterfalls. 

Like Taquamenon, the water has made it's way around the rocks and islands of higher land, falling in a myriad of small but powerful rapids.  The noise is a symphony.  Water over large rocks, water over small rocks, water trapped against rocks, water over aspen, water against water, water entering and exiting small pools all along the way.


We stand transfixed and listening, watching the water fall until the sun threatens to leave the sky and leave us in the dark to stumble home.

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