Yesterday I told you about how while trudging through the snow, on the blank, freezing wilderness expanse at the heart of a major metropolitan area, I found...
If you haven't read what I wrote, don't worry.
Don't look back.
I have been to these falls before. They are barely any kind of a waterfall in the Spring and Summer. They are more of a heavy seep in the rare stone bluffs along the Mississippi River. They are a trickle. They are a series of drips, and pools, and rivulets.
But water runs, ice gathers.
And the ice had gathered here.
I could see that the falls were beautiful in this late part of Winter, colorful and strange, but I wouldn't be able to photograph them properly without climbing through the snow and ice and, especially, through the tangled trees below them. And I was shy to do that. I was shy to climb. I was scared of slipping, alone, in the cold and the snow.
So I took a picture, the best I could, from down below.
I am not complaining about this picture. I even kind of love this picture. When I took the picture I even kind of knew I loved it. But I also knew that there would be way more pictures if I would only climb the falls a little.
So I did. Very carefully.
And I made it to a good spot.