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Ricketts Glen State Park
Sometimes we get swept up in the moment, free-falling with abandon. The high propels us forward. We go this way and that. But the path always leads downward. Bruised and battered, we pick up and, if we’re brave, we climb the hill again and again. And again. Here’s to being brave.
Where do you go when it's raining and you’re hundreds of miles from home? I go to a place that provides renewal. The falls at Ricketts Glen were overflowing from recent rains, gushing and crashing as gravity pulled the water down crevices whittled to unique shapes over time. The constant roar of the rush cleansed my mind, and the soft downstream trickles spoke to me in quirky tones. There is something about the earnestness of flowing water. Like life, it comes crashing down, tumbling in all directions. But, as it journeys, it smooths itself out, calms, and becomes transparent. There are still rocks below the surface, but I can see now how to navigate them.